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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Bertie  Wilmot  was  perched  on  the  topmost  branches,  doing  his  best  to  shake  the 
yellow  pippins  into  the  outstretched  aprons  of  Daisy,  Pansy,  and  another  little 
flaxen-haired  maiden  who  were  capering  wildly  beneath.  —A  in. 


TO    THE    END. 


BY 

C.   LOCKHART    GORDON, 

AUTHOR   OF    "HUMP  AND   ALL." 


NEW   YORK: 

THOMAS    WHITTAKER, 

2   &   3,   BIBLE   HOUSE. 
1890. 


T27 


CONTENTS. 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.      CONFIRMATION   BELLS  7 

II.      A   FIRESIDE   TALK          IO 

III.  THE    HOME   FARM  14 

IV.  THE  HAY-FIELD  l8 

V.      THE   COTTAGE  HOME 24 

VI.      EVENING  CONFIDENCES  28 

vii.    AN  "AT  HOME"  AT  THE  KNOLL    33 

VIII.      TWILIGHT  TALKS  39 

IX.      WAVERERS  47 

X.      THE   DARKENED    HOME  55 

XI.      ADELBERT    TERRACE 6l 

XII.      TAKES   UP    THE  CROSS  67 

XIII.  A   LUNCHEON    PARTY 76 

XIV.  TEMPTATION       85 

XV.      CONQUEST  94 

XVI.      MARRIAGE   BELLS  IOO 

XVII.      A  CHANCE   MEETING 106 

XVIII.      A  SAD   RETURN  113 

XIX.      CONFIRMATION    BELLS  125 


622809 


TO     THE     END. 


CHAPTER    I. 

CONFIRMATION   BELLS. 

"  O  Jesus,  I  have  promised 

To  serve  Thee  to  the  end  ; 
Be  Thou  for  ever  near  me, 

My  Master  and  my  Friend. 
I  shall  not  fear  the  battle 

If  Thou  art  by  my  side, 
Nor  wander  from  the  pathway 

If  Thou  wilt  be  my  Guide." 

IVE  fresh  young  voices  carolled  forth 
these  words — five  bright  fair  faces 
gleamed  soft  and  solemn  in  the  sweet 
spring  sunshine.  It  was  Confirmation 
Day  at  St.  Magna's,  and  the  old  parish  church  was 
crowded  from  end  to  end. 

The  roll  of  the  organ  ceased,  the  sweet  notes 
of  the  singers  died  away,  and  the  five  young  girls 
in  the  front  oaken  pew  seated  themselves  to  listen 
to  the  Bishop's  parting  words. 

"  Soldiers    and    servants    of    Jesus    Christ,"   he 


8  To  the  End. 

began,  "this  day  you  have  sworn  allegiance  to 
your  great  Captain  ;  you  have  takcm  upon  your- 
selves the  vows  which  were  made  for  you  at  baptism ; 
you  have  promised  to  fight  manfully  against  sin, 
the  world,  and  the  devil,  and  to  continue  Christ's 
faithful  soldiers  and  servants  unto  your  lives'  end. 
Now,  in  whose  strength  are  you  going  forth  to  this 
warfare  ?  In  your  Saviour's  or  your  own  ?  Are 
you  trusting  to  your  strong  right  arm  and  your 
good  resolutions  to  bring  you  the  victory,  or  have 
you  knelt,  and  with  all  the  fervency  of  your  young 
hearts  besought  the  Lord  to  nerve  you  for  the 
conflict  for  which  none  of  us  are  too  strong — to 
shoe  you  for  the  race  for  which  none  of  our  feet 
are  too  swift? 

"  My  dear  young  friends,  I  know  not  the  secrets 
of  your  hearts,  but  God  does  ;  but  if  you  have 
never  honestly  raised  a  cry  to  Heaven  for  help 
before,  raise  one  now,  I  beseech  you.  Rush  not 
unarmed  into  the  fight.  Ask  your  Heavenly  Father 
to  equip  you  with  the  helmet  of  salvation,  with  the 
sword  of  the  Spirit,  to  give  you  the  shield  of  faith 
and  the  breastplate  of  Christ's  righteousness,  to 
gird  you  with  truth,  and  to  shoe  your  feet  with 
peace,  and  then — and  then  alone — may  you  hope  to 
run  with  patience  the  race  that  is  set  before  you — 
to  be  faithful  unto  death— to  continue  Christ's 
faithful  soldiers  and  servants  until  your  lives'  end." 


Confirmation  Bells. 


More  words  followed — words  of  love,  words  of 
counsel,  words  of  encouragement — and  then  the 
organ  pealed  forth  again,  the  bells  chimed,  and  the 
crowded  congregation  poured  itself  forth  into  the 
bright  spring  sunshine. 

"  To  the  end,  to  the  end  ;  Father,  keep  me  faithful 
to  the  end,"  pleaded  Edith  Wilmot  that  night  as 
she  knelt  in  the  room  where  her  little  sisters 
slumbered. 

"  To  the  end,  to  the  end  ;  dear  Saviour,  guard  me 
— guide  me,"  whispered  Ruth  Hope  with  clasped 
hands,  as  she  lay  on  her  invalid  couch  at  the  Home 
Farm  that  evening. 

"  To  the  end,  to  the  end  ;  may  I  be  true  to  the 
end,"  prayed  Patience  Trueman,  as  she  gazed  up 
through  her  cottage-window  at  the  stars  that  were 
shining  down  so  brightly. 

Thus  three  out  of  the  five  young  girls  that  had 
knelt  in  the  oaken  pew  that  morning  started  forth 
on  the  race  that  was  set  before  them — leaning  on 
the  same  strong  arm — resting  in  the  same  dear  love. 

But  what  of  the  other  two  ?  Alas  !  alas  !  though 
Violet  Norman  and  Rose  Wicks  bent  the  knee 
and  folded  the  hands,  repeating  the  words  they 
had  learnt  by  rote  from  childhood,  that  night,  no 
true  cry  went  up  to  Heaven  for  help,  under  no 
wings  of  love  did  they  seek  for  rest  and  shelter. 


CHAPTER   II. 

A  FIRESIDE   TALK. 

HE  short  spring  day  had  closed,  and  the 
firelight  flickered  merrily  on  the  rose- 
coloured  blinds  of  an  old-fashioned 
house  in  High  Street.  Tea  was  being 
carried  out  from  the  drawing-room,  and  with  a 
sigh  of  content  a  lady  dropped  into  a  cosy  chair 
near  the  fire  and  drew  a  work-basket  to  her. 

"  What !  all  the  petticoats  finished  !  Rachel, 
you  must  have  worked  hard  this  morning ;  too 
hard,  dear,  I  am  afraid,"  and  Miss  Scott  looked 
anxiously  at  her  sister. 

"  No,  Margaret,  I  am  not  tired,"  and  the  sweet 
pale  face  that  rested  against  the  cushions  of  the 
sofa  lifted  itself  smilingly.  "  Little  Mary  Trueman 
came  round  this  morning,  and  the  sight  of  her 
well-worn  garments  gave  my  fingers  new  energy." 

"  Poor  Mrs.  Trueman,  she  must  find  it  hard  work 
to  clothe  her  baker's  dozen,  and  yet  Patience  looked 


A  Fireside  Talk.  1 1 

so  neat  and  respectable  this  morning — quite  as 
respectable  as  Rosa  Wicks,  whose  father  earns 
thirty  shillings  a  week.  Patience  and  Rose  and 
Violet  and  Edith  and  Ruth  Hope  were  all  in  the 
pew  together,  dear." 

"  Were  they  ?  How  strange  ! — just  the  five  girls 
we  are  so  interested  in.  And  you  liked  the 
Bishop's  address  ?  " 

"  Liked  it — I  more  than  liked  it ;  it  sent  me 
out  to  my  district  with  fresh  energy.  But  oh, 
Rachel,  I  could  not  help  thinking  of  my  own  con- 
firmation— that  happy  day  twenty-five — no,  let  me 
see — thirty  years  ago  ;  it  was  just  such  a  May  day 
as  this,  bright  and  beautiful — you  remember  it, 
dear,  don't  you  ?  But  I  am  forgetting,  how  should 
you  ? — you  were  only  a  little  toddle  then.  Good  old 
Mr.  Mansel  was  our  vicar,  and  Bishop  Wilson  con- 
firmed me ;  and  father  was  there.  I  can  see  him 
now  beaming  at  me  from  the  red-lined  pew  in  the 
gallery ;  and  mother,  dear  mother,  in  her  lavender 
bonnet  and  white  ribbons,  kneeling  down  praying 
for  me,  and  Arthur — yes,  Arthur  was  home  from 
India  that  year.  Ah  !  they  were  all  here  then, 
and  now  .  .  ."  And  Miss  Scott's  voice  faltered. 

"  Now,  Margaret  darling,  they  are  safe  at  home 
with  the  Saviour  in  Paradise,"  and  Rachel  Scott's 
thin  blue-veined  hand  stole  gently  into  her  sister's. 

"Ah,   Rachel  dear,  what  should   I   do  without 


12  To  the  End. 

you  ?  I — I  am  always  looking  back,  while  you 
are  always  looking  forward.  Yes,  as  I  sat  listening 
to  the  Bishop's  brave  stirring  words  to-day,  I 
could  not  help  thinking  what  a  poor  cowardly 
soldier  I  had  been  ;  how  often  I  had  never  held 
up  my  shield  of  faith  at  all ;  and  how  sometimes  I 
had  even  been  tempted  to  throw  away  my  armour 
and  fly." 

"  Tempted,  Margaret,  darling  ! — but  through 
God's  grace  you  did  not  give  way  to  the  tempta- 
tion. We  have  all  bitter  things  to  write  against 
ourselves ;  but  I  only  trust  those  five  young 
soldiers  \vho  are  starting  to-day  will  fight  as  man- 
fully as  you  have  done." 

"  Rachel,  Rachel !  hush  !  hush !— but  let  us 
change  the  subject.  Those  dear  young  girls — it 
was  quite  touching  to  see  them.  Patience  True- 
man's  honest  open  face  was  beaming  over  with 
happiness;  and  Edith,  our  own  dear  Edith,  had 
such  a  sweet  look  in  her  blue  eyes ;  and  con- 
siderate and  thoughtful  as  usual,  she  helped  Ruth 
Hope  so  tenderly  to  the  chancel." 

"  Ah,  dear  Edith,  Dr.  Wilmot  was  only  telling 
me  yesterday  what  a  help  and  comfort  she  was  to 
him.  A  much  greater  weight  of  responsibility,  he 
says,  rests  on  her  young  shoulders  than  he  would 
willingly  place  there,  but  her  mother  suffers  so 
terribly  from  headaches.  Edith  however  accepts 


A  Fireside  Talk.  13 

her  position,  Dr.  Wilmot  says,  most  brightly,  and 
she  is  the  sunshine  and  mainstay  of  the  household." 

"But  what  of  Violet  and  Rose,  Margaret  ? — you 
did  not  tell  me  about  them." 

"Well,  dear,  even  their  pretty  faces  looked 
thoughtful,  but  Frank  tells  me  he  is  anxious  about 
them.  He  says  they  were  most  regular  attendants 
at  the  class,  and  assented  most  readily  to  all 
he  had  to  say ;  but  somehow  or  other  he  fears  his 
words  have  had  no  real  influence  upon  them,  and 
that  they  do  not  at  all  realize  the  solemnity  of  the 
step  they  have  undertaken." 

"  Ah,  Margaret  dear,  my  heart  aches  for  them — 
pretty  motherless  Violet,  and  winning,  bright  Rose. 
God  grant  they  are  not  starting  forth  to  meet  all 
the  trials  and  the  temptations  that  lie  before  them 
without  the  Good  Shepherd's  arm  around  them." 

"  God  grant  they  are  not,  darling  ;  we  must  pray 
earnestly  for  them,"  and  Miss  Scott  stooped  and 
pressed  a  kiss  on  her  sister's  forehead.  "  But,  Rachel 
dear,  what  hot  cheeks  ! — you  have  talked  enough 
for  to-night.  Where  is  the  book  ?  Come,  I  will 
read  to  you." 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE    HOME    FARM. 

-DITH  !  E  .  .  .  dith !  E  .  .  .  .  dith ! " 
The  call  which  had  begun  in  a  high 
treble  ended  in  a  shrill  crescendo. 

Softly  a  door  opened  and  closed  at 
the  end  of  the  corridor,  and  quickly  with  finger 
uplifted  a  young  girl  came  along  it.  "Bertie, 
Bertie!  hush,  hush! — don't  you  know  mother  is 
lying  down  with  a  headache  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Edie,  I  quite  forgot,"  and  the  face  of  the 
curly-headed  little  boy  that  bestrode  the  banisters 
sobered  instantly. 

"  I  thought  you  did,  darling,  for  you  are  generally 
so  thoughtful,"  and  Edith  Wilmot  stooped  and 
pressed  a  kiss  on  her  little  brother's  forehead  ;  "  but 
run  up-stairs  now  and  tell  Daisy  and  Pansy  I  am 
ready,  and  if  nurse  wants  to  speak  to  me  she  will 
find  me  in  the  school-room." 

"  Edie,  are  you  really  going  to  slave  all  the  way 


The  Home  Farm.  15 

to  the  farm  this  hot  afternoon  ? "  was  the  question 
that  came  from  the  depths  of  a  wicker  chair  placed 
just  outside  the  school-room  window,  where  the 
old-fashioned  caves  of  the  Elizabethan  house  cast 
a  patch  of  shade  on  the  gravelled  pathway. 

"Yes,  Joan,  I  must ;  mother  will  not  touch  meat 
to-day,  and  I  want  to  tempt  her  with  some  of  Mrs. 
Muir's  fresh  eggs." 

"You  darling  old  pet,  you  are  a  model  of 
thoughtfulness  and  self-denial.  I  hope  you  are  not 
going  however  to  ask  me  to  accompany  you,  for 
Mrs.  Norman  has  just  written  to  ask  me  to  go  for 
a  drive  with  her,"  and  Joan  Wilmot  tossed  into 
the  school-room  a  daintily  scented  envelope. 

"  No,  Joan,  I  am  not,"  and  Edith  stooped  and 
with  a  slight  shade  on  her  face  picked  up  the 
letter  ;  "  and  as  to  self-denial,  I  am  sure  none  of 
that  is  required  in  performing  a  little  service  for 
mother — mother  whose  health  has  broken  down  in 
slavery  and  service  for  us." 

"You  know,  Edith,  I  did  not  mean  that,"  and 
Joan  Wilmot  toyed  somewhat  shamefacedly  with  a 
sprig  of  the  clematis  that  clambered  up  the  red- 
brick walls. 

"  I  know,  darling,  that  you  did  not,"  and  Edith 
turned  up  the  pretty  pouting  face  of  her  sister  and 
kissed  it  fondly  ;  "  but,  Joan  dear,  you  will  be  back 
in  time  for  your  French  lesson,  will  you  not  ? 


!6  To  the  End. 

Madame  le  Foi  is  always  so  vexed  when  she  is 
kept  waiting.  Ah,  there  is  good  little  May  learning 
her  verbs  in  the  arbour,  I  see.  Good-bye,  May 
darling,  I'm  off  to  the  farm,"  and  blowing  a  kiss 
through  her  ringers  Edith  joined  the  impatient 
children,  who,  armed  with  big  baskets  and  shady 
hats,  were  awaiting  her  arrival  at  the  school-room 
door. 

Farms,  as  a  rule,  exercise  an  irresistible  attraction 
over  most  children,  and  a  walk  to  the  Home  Farm 
was  the  little  Wilmots'  especial  delight ;  it  con- 
tained such  a  world  of  interests,  and  it  was  pre- 
sided over  by  such  a  kind  mistress — a  mistress 
who  did  not  mind  even  when  little  footprints  were 
left  on  the  red  bricks  of  her  clean  dairy,  nor  when 
little  hands  seized  the  handle  of  her  big  churn  ; 
nor,  strange  to  say,  even  when  little  voices  disturbed 
the  privacy  of  the  secluded  nook  where  the  old 
gray  hen  was  sitting.  Yes,  Mrs.  Muir  was  a  mistress 
after  the  children's  own  heart,  and  they  turned  to 
her  instinctively,  not  only  to  be  made  busy  and 
happy,  but  also  with  all  their  little  confidences, 
while  she— she  looked  on  the  children  as  a  bit  of 
God's  own  sunshine — rays  of  light  and  gladness 
sent  down  from  heaven  to  brighten  and  to  cheer 
this  lower  world  of  ours. 

Mrs.  Muir  was  Scotch — very  Scotch  some  people 
would  say— for  she  pronounced  her  /z's  with  delicious 


The  Home  Farm.  17 

distinctness,  and  rolled  out  her  r's  as  though  she 
loved  them.  She  had  been  brought  up  in  comfort 
and  luxury,  for  her  father  had  been  a  wealthy 
Glasgow  merchant ;  but  comfort  and  luxury  she 
had  turned  her  back  upon  when  she  became  the 
wife  of  a  missionary,  and  consented  to  accompany 
Alan.  Muir  to  his  lonely  station  in  southern  Africa, 
to  the  land  and  the  work  he  loved  so  well. 

Five  short  years  passed — the  golden  years  of 
Janet  Muir's  life — and  then  Alan  Muir  was  called 
to  exchange  labour  for  rest,  work  for  praise,  and 
Janet  returned  to  her  father's  house  a  widow. 

To  her  father's  house,  but  not  to  the  home  of 
her  childhood,  for  during  her  absence  the  wealthy 
mercantile  house  in  which  her  father  was  a  partner 
had  become  bankrupt,  and  he  and  his  little  orphaned 
grand-daughter  were  now  living  in  a  quiet  suburb 
of  Glasgow. 

In  tending  and  ministering  to  these  dear  ones, 
Janet  Muir  sought  to  assuage  her  own  sorrow,  but 
when  her  father's  days  were  ended,  at  the  request 
of  a  cousin  of  her  husband's,  she  and  her  little 
niece  turned  their  faces  southernwards,  to  the 
Home  Farm — a  home  which  God  in  His  provi- 
dential care  ultimately  designed  one  day  should  be 
Janet's  own — a  haven  of  rest  and  shelter  for  the 
widow  and  the  orphan. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE    HAY- FIELD. 

ND  is  your  talk  with  Ruthie  over,  dear  ? 
Then  come  to  yonder  shady  coiner, 
and  we'll  make  ourselves  cosy  on  a 
hay-cock ;  the  children  have  been 
making  me  an  arm-chair  and  they  are  most  anxious 
that  I  should  try  it." 

"  Ah,  Mrs.  Muir,  they  are  enjoying  themselves  ! 
How  happy  you  do  make  them  ! — yes,  yes,  Bertie, 
I  see  you,"  and  Edith  Wilmot  waved  her  parasol  in 
answer  to  her  little  brother's  violent  gesticulations, 
as  perched  on  old  Dobbin's  ample  back  he  made 
the  tour  of  the  field  in  the  hay-cart — Pansy  and 
Violet,  all  laughter  and  excitement,  rolling  on  the 
load  behind. 

"Wee  Iambics,  it  does  my  heart  good  to  see 
them,  and  they  are  quite  safe.  I  have  given  them 
into  old  Robin's  charge,  and  he  is  as  careful  over 


The  Hay-field.  19 

them  as  though  they  were  his  house-lambs;  well, 
and  how  do  you  think  Ruthie  is  looking,  dear  ?  " 

"  Pretty  well  ;  perhaps  a  trifle  pale  from  the  heat ; 
but  oh  !  Mrs.  Muir,  how  sweet  and  patient  she  is  j 
— never  murmuring  nor  complaining." 

"  That  she  does  not,  dear  bairnie  ;  even  old  Elspeth 
said  to  me  this  morning,  '  It  does  my  heart  guid, 
mem,  to  look  at  Miss  Ruth,  her  face  beams  like  a 
glint  of  sunshine,  and  as  for  her  sweet  voice,  I  heard 
her  singing  when  I  was  stirring  the  porridge  this 
morning,  and  it  was  just  like  the  lark  a-lilting.' 
I  expect  it  was  Ruthie's  confirmation  hymn  old 
Elspeth  heard  ;  she  always  sings  it  over  to  herself 
the  first  thing  in  the  morning." 

"  Does  she  ?  Then  I  hope  she  will  like  this,"  and 
Edith  produced  from  her  pocket  an  illuminated 
card. 

"  It  is  pretty,  dear — very  pretty,  and  oh,  what  a 
needful  prayer!"  and  Mrs.  Muir  repeated  slowly  to 
herself  the  words — 

"  O  Jesus,  I  have  promised 

To  serve  Thee  to  the  end  ; 
Be  Thou  for  ever  near  me, 

My  Master  and  my  Friend. 
I  shall  not  fear  the  battle 

If  Thou  art  by  my  side, 
Nor  wander  from  the  pathway 

Jf  Thou  wilt  be  my  Guide." 

The   card   was   handed    back   in    silence.     Mrs. 

B   2 


2o  To  tJie  End. 

Muir  was  gazing  across  the  hay-field,  but  not  at  the 
children. 

"  Mrs.  Muir,"  at  last  Edith  ventured  to  say,  "  Mrs. 
Muir,  do  you  know  although  I  love  that  verse  I 
almost  tremble  when  I  sing  those  words — 

'O  Jesus,  I  have  promised 
To  serve  Thee  to  the  end.' 

The  end  may  be  such  a  long  way  off,  and  there 
may  be  such  difficulties  and  trials  before  it  comes, 
and  then  when  I  think  of  that  verse  in  the  Bible 
that  speaks  of  vowings  to  God  and  not  performing, 
and  remember  that  I  have  promised  to  my  Saviour 
— to  my  God  ..."  and  Edith  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands. 

The  far-away  look  in  Mrs.  Muir's  eyes  was  gone  ; 
in  a  minute  she  was  back  in  the  present.  "  My 
bairnie,  when  you  made  the  promise  you  did  not 
forget  the  prayer  ? " 

"  No,  no,  indeed  I  did  not." 

"  I  thought  not ;  then  fear  not  to  take  up  the 
words  of  that  sweet  hymn — sing,  my  bairnie,  with- 
out a  quaver  of  doubt — 

'  I  shall  not  fear  the  battle 

If  Thou  art  by  my  side, 
Nor  wander  from  the  pathway 
If  Thou  wilt  be  my  Guide.' 

I  was  thinking,  Edith,  of  a  little  incident  in  my 


The  Hay  field.  21 

own  life  when  you  spoke  to  me.  Shall  I  tell  it  to 
you,  dear  ? — it  will  help  to  illustrate  what  I  mean." 

"  Please  do." 

"  Well,  my  child,  my  Alan  and  I  were  once 
spending  a  few  weeks  in  the  Highlands — ah  me, 
how  long  ago  now  ! " — and  again  the  far-away  look 
came  into  Mrs.  Muir's  eyes.  "  Behind  our  wee  house 
there  rose  a  hill  which  I  was  very  anxious  to  be- 
come better  acquainted  with,  and  as  my  husband 
was  always  very  busy  with  his  letters  in  the  morn- 
ing, I  thought  some  day  I  might  scale  it  alone. 
Alan  however  assured  me  it  was  far  steeper  than 
it  looked,  and  that  it  should  be  ascended  by  only 
one  particular  path.  He  promised  however  to  be  my 
guide  one  day,  but  laughingly  he  asserted  I  must 
exercise  the  womanly  virtue  of  patience,  and  wait 
till  he  could  claim  an  honest  holiday.  I  kissed 
him  and  told  him  his  wife  was  not  a  southern  maid, 
hills  had  no  terrors  for  her,  and  one  day  when  he 
was  busy  in  his  study  I  stole  out  of  the  house  and 
soon  was  on  my  way  to  Ben  Dhu. 

"  What  need  to  dilate  on  my  experiences  ?  For 
the  first  hour  I  sang  like  a  lark  ;  during  the  second 
I  was  silent ;  by  the  third  I  had  stumbled  over 
a  stone,  and  lay  speechless  with  fatigue  and 
exhaustion. 

"  What  was  to  become  of  me  ?  Our  wee  housie 
in  the  glen  was  plainly  visible,  for  I  had  but  half- 


22  To  the  End. 

way  ascended  the  hill,  but  I  had  no  strength  to 
retrace  my  steps.  Oh,  why,  why  had  I  not  listened 
to  dear  Alan,  and  waited  for  his  strong  arm  to 
guide  me !  Now  perhaps  I  should  have  to  spend  a 
night  out  on  the  hill,  and  hiding  my  face  in  the 
bracken,  I  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears. 

"Just  then  I  heard  the  furze-bushes  being  pushed 
aside,  and  tramp  !  tramp  !  coming  over  the  heather. 
I  raised  myself,  and  there  was  Alan,  my  husband, 
come  in  search  of  me.  I  need  not  describe  our 
meeting,  Edith,  but  I  will  tell  you,  dear,  I  was  not 
upbraided.  I  was  fed  with  milk  and  biscuits,  and 
after  being  lifted  on  to  a  Highland  pony,  carefully 
led  homewards. 

"  Three  weeks  later,  Edith,  my  husband  and  I 
stood  on  the  top  of  Ben  Dhu,  and  as  I  gazed  at 
the  lovely  landscape  I  said,  '  Alan,  I  should  never 
have  seen  this  if  you  had  not  been  my  guide.' 

'  You  would  not  have  made  that  speech  a  month 
ago,  wifie,'  said  my  husband,  as  he  smilingly  drew 
me  down  to  a  seat  on  the  heather;  'you  learnt 
your  wisdom  by  bitter  experience,  I  am  afraid.' 
Then  changing  his  tone,  he  added,  'It  is  a  small 
matter  to  mistrust  an  earthly  guide;  but,  oh, 
Janet,  my  darling,  may  neither  you  or  I  ever  mis- 
trust our  Heavenly  Guide  — our  blessed,  blessed 
Saviour.  Before  us  there  lies  a  steeper  than  any 
earthly  hill  to  climb  ;  may  we  mount  it  leaning  on 


The  Hay -field,  23 


the  arm  of  our  Beloved — and  then,  and  then  alone» 
may  we  hope  to  reach  the  better  land — the  new 
Jerusalem.' 

"  He  is  there  now,  my  Alan,"  said  Mrs.  Muir 
softly,  as  she  wiped  away  a  tear  ;  "  but,  Edith,  there 
are  the  children — take  them  to  look  for  the  eggs, 
will  you,  dear  ?  I  will  go  in  and  get  tea  ready," 
and  pulling  her  sun-bonnet  over  her  eyes,  Mrs. 
Muir  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  farm-house. 
Often  and  often  in  after  years  when  Edith  was  far 
away  from  the  Home  Farm,  and  new  duties  and 
responsibilities  were  weighing  upon  her,  that 
summer's  afternoon  would  rise  to  her  remem- 
brance— the  deep  blue  sky — the  sunny  hay-field — 
the  children  rolling  in  the  hay-cart ;  and  once  more 
she  would  fancy  herself  looking  into  Mrs.  Muir's 
sweet  earnest  eyes  ;  once  more  would  she  recall 
the  truth  that  the  story  of  Ben  Dhu  had  taught 
her. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE   COTTAGE   HOME. 

ATIENCE,  tell  Bob  to  let  me  have  the 
bat,  he's  had  it  for  nigh  half-an-hour." 
"  No,  Patience,  I  ought  to  keep  it ; 
Tim  hasn't  put  me  out  yet." 
"  Now,  boys,  isn't  mother  always  telling  you  to 
give  up  to  one  another  ?  Come,  Bob,  you  are  the 
eldest,  let  Tim  have  a  turn  ;  there's  no  chance  of  his 
putting  you  out,  he's  but  a  little  fellow  ;  but  run 
along  now,  for  there  are  the  children  to  put  to  bed, 
and  mother's  supper  to  get  ready,"  and  closing  the 
door  on  her  brothers,  Patience  Trueman  turned 
back  into  the  kitchen.  Mrs.  Trueman's  cottage 
was  small — so  small  that  it  was  difficult  when 
night  came  to  know  where  to  stow  away  the 
numerous  olive  branches  ;  but  a  mother's  love  and 
tact  can  overcome  a  good  many  difficulties,  and 
few  curly  heads  slumbered  more  peacefully  than 
did  the  little  Truemans. 


The  Cottage  Home.  25 

Tom,  the  eldest,  was  domiciled  at  the  Home 
Farm  ;  Ted,  the  next  brother  to  Patience,  was  at 
sea  ;  George,  Mrs.  Trueman  had  taken  in  that  very 
day  to  Great  St.  Magna's,  where  he  was  to  act  as 
general  factotum  to  his  uncle,  who  kept  an  oil  and 
tallow-chandler's  shop  ;  Bob,  Willie,  Tim,  Mary  and 
Nellie  were  all  still  at  school ;  while  Susie,  Freddy 
and  Artie  (the  fat  twins),  and  Jessie,  the  three-year- 
old  baby,  enjoyed  the  freedom  of  home.  A  goodly 
number  of  young  mouths  to  feed,  despite  that  three 
out  of  the  thirteen  chicks  had  already  taken  flight 
from  the  family  roof-tree;  not  one  too  many,  how- 
ever, thought  Mrs.  Trueman  ;  and  when  Patience, 
belying  her  name,  was  all  impatience  to  be  also  on 
the  wing  (not  from  discontent  with  her  cosy,  snug 
nest,  but  because  she  was  longing  to  bring  money 
into  the  family  exchequer),  her  mother  declared 
that  straitened  means  with  her  were  worth  any 
amount  of  money  without  her,  and  Patience  had 
to  give  her  promise  that  she  would  bide  at  home 
at  all  events  till  Mary  grew  a  bit  bigger. 

It  was  mother's  supper  that  Patience  was  now 
busy  over,  and  after  concocting  a  savoury  little 
dish  from  some  scraps  of  meat  and  potatoes,  she 
popped  it  into  the  oven,  and  calling  to  Mary  to 
bring  up  the  twins,  she  caught  up  baby  Jess,  and 
covering  her  dimpled  face  with  kisses  carried  her 
off  to  bed. 


26  To  the  End. 

The  upper  storey  of  Mrs.  Trucman's  cottage 
consisted  of  three  bedrooms,  if  bedroom  the  third 
could  be  called  when  it  was  little  more  than  a 
cupboard — cupboard  though  it  was,  however,  it 
was  the  coveted  possession  of  the  elder  Trueman 
boys,  and  now  that  George  had  departed  to  the 
region  of  oil  and  dips,  Bob  and  Willie  had  become 
its  proud  possessors. 

Mrs.  Trueman,  baby,  Susie  and  Tim  slept  in  the 
front  apartment,  while  Patience,  Mary,  Nellie  and 
the  twins  occupied  the  white-washed  chamber  that 
looked  over  the  strip  of  old-fashioned  garden. 

The  air  that  came  through  the  casement-window 
was  fragrant  with  the  smell  of  roses,  jasmin, 
mignonette  and  honeysuckle,  and  as  Patience 
(after  putting  the  children  to  bed)  watched  the 
stars  come  out  one  by  one,  she  thought,  "  Truly 
the  lines  had  fallen  to  her  in  pleasant  places  ;  yea, 
she  had  a  goodly  heritage." 

The  hushed  stillness  of  the  room  was  only 
broken  by  the  deep-drawn  breaths  of  the  tired 
children,  when  a  low  whisper  came  from  the  bed 
nearest  to  the  window. 

"  Patience,  what  are  you  looking  at  ?  The  stars  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Nellie ;  why  ain't  you  asleep  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  bain't  tired,  Patience ;  do  let  me  look 
too  ;  I  do  love  them  stars,"  and  the  child  crept  on 
to  her  sister's  knee. 


The  Cottage  Home.  27 

Patience  drew  together  the  casement,  and  wrap- 
ping an  old  shawl  round  her  little  sister  the  two 
gazed  together  for  some  minutes  in  silence. 

"  Ain't  they  lovely  ? "  at  last  whispered  Nellie. 
"  Patience,  be  Heaven  up  there  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Nellie ;  nobody  rightly  knows." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  it  be — stars  seem  somehow  so 
home-like." 

"  But  Heaven  does  not  require  to  be  made 
home-like,  Nellie  dear;  Heaven  is  our  Father's 
house,  and  then  (and  Patience's  voice  lowered  and 
her  eyes  glistened)  Jesus  is  there." 

The  child's  arms  tightened  round  her  sister's  neck, 
but  she  said  nothing ;  when  Patience  was  carrying 
her  back  to  bed,  however,  she  whispered, "  Patience, 
I  do  love  the  Lord  Jesus." 

"  I  am  so  glad,  Nellie  dear,  for  you  know  the 
Lord  Jesus  loves  you  very  much — more  than  even 
mother  or  me." 

"I  know  He  does,"  and  the  little  fair  head 
nestled  with  satisfaction  on  its  pillow. 

Tucking  her  little  sister  in  securely,  Patience 
kissed  her  fondly,  then  ran  down-stairs  to  look  after 
her  savoury  dish  in  the  oven. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

EVENING   CONFIDENCES. 

RS.  TRUEMAN  was  very  tired  when 
she  reached  home,  but  Patience  put 
her  into  the  old-fashioned  arm-chair, 
and  took  off  her  heavy  boots,  and  after 
a  strong  cup  of  tea  and  some  supper  she  began  to 
revive. 

"  Well,  Patience,  some  folks  may  like  being  out 
and  about,  but  to  my  mind  there's  no  place  like 
home,"  and  Mrs.  Trueman  stroked  her  daughter's 
head  fondly. 

"  What,  mother !  you  don't  envy  Uncle  Tom  all 
his  grandeur  ?" 

"  No,  lass,  that  I  don't,  though  he  has  as  tidy  a 
house  as  you  would  wish  to  set  eyes  on — a  parlour 
at  the  back  of  the  shop  where  they  takes  their 
meals,  and  a  sitting-room  up-stairs  with  a  pianer 
for  Amelia  to  play  on,  and  four  bedrooms  with 
lace  curtains  at  the  windows  ;  but  there  now,  I 


Evening  Confidences.  29 

wouldn't  give  our  little  place  for  the  whole  of  it," 
and  Mrs.  Trueman  gazed  with  satisfaction  round 
her  cheery  kitchen. 

"  And  did  George  seem  content  to  stay,  mother  ?  " 

"  Ay,  dear  lad,  he  did  his  best  to  put  a  brave 
face  upon  it,  but  his  heart  was  in  his  mouth,  that 
I  could  see,  when  he  said  good-bye  to  me  in  the 
parlour.  His  uncle,  however,  he  slapped  him  on  the 
back,  and  told  him  that  if  he  was  a  sharp  lad,  and 
steady,  perhaps  some  day  he  might  write  his  name 
over  the  shop." 

"  Then,  mother,  some  time  perhaps  George  will 
have  a  house  too  with  a  parlour  and  a  pianer  and 
bedrooms  and  lace  curtains." 

"  Ah,  Patience,  my  child,  it  is  not  money  I 
covet  for  my  children  ;  if  George  only  turns  out  an 
honest  God-fearing  man  like  his  dear  father,  my 
prayers  will  be  answered." 

"  I  know,  mother,  I  know,"  and  looking  up  in 
her  mother's  face  with  a  bright  smile,  Patience 
added  softly,  "  We  all  know,  mother  dear,  your 
heart's  desire  for  us." 

"  And  my  heart's  desire  is  granted  for  one  at 
least  of  my  children,  is  it  not?" 

Patience's  "  yes,"  though  a  low  was  a  very  earnest 
one ;  then  drawing  a  stool  to  her  mother's  feet 
she  repeated  her  conversation  with  Nellie  that 
night. 


3O  To  the  End. 

"  Ah,  Patience,  my  child,  what  a  true  God  in 
Heaven  is  our  God  !  The  night  your  dear  father  was 
taken  how  I  did  beseech  the  good  Lord  to  let  me 
meet  my  dear  Will  again  some  day,  and  to  let  me 
bring  all  my  dear  children  with  me,  and  see  how 
He  is  answering  my  prayer.  Dear  little  Nellie,  I 
always  thought  her  a  child  beyond  her  years,  and 
she  is  that  like  her  father  I  could  almost  fancy 
sometimes  it  is  his  dear  eyes  a-lookin'  at  me." 

Eight  o'clock  struck,  and  Patience  was  still  on  a 
stool  at  her  mother's  feet ;  a  big  basket,  however, 
stood  beside  her  with  a  pile  of  socks  which  she 
was  busy  darning. 

It  was  easy  to  see  what  a  bond  of  union  existed 
between  this  mother  and  daughter.  To  Mrs.  True- 
man,  Patience  was  not  only  a  deeply-loved  child, 
but  also  a  trusted  companion  and  counsellor,  while 
to  Patience  Mrs.  Trueman  was  just  mother;  but 
the  way  in  which  the  girl's  voice  softened  and  her 
eyes  brightened  when  she  pronounced  this  word 
showed  what  a  wealth  of  meaning  it  conveyed  to 
her. 

"  Patience,  give  me  some  of  those  stockings  ;  I 
am  more  rested  now." 

"  No,  mother,  not  one,  you  are  to  finish  your 
day  like  a  lady,"  and  jumping  up  Patience  shook 
up  her  mother's  cushion  and  pulled  her  gently 
back  upon  it.  "  There  now,  that  is  right ;  it  is  really 


Evening  Confidences.  31 

quite  a  pleasure,  mother  dear,  to  see  you  for  once 
with  your  hands  before  you." 

"  Ah,  Patience,  you  spoil  your  old  mother,  but 
I  suppose  I  must  give  in  to  you.  Well,  dear,  and 
how  did  the  children  behave  themselves?" 

"  Oh,  very  well  ;  Bob  and  Willie  they  had  a  few 
words  at  dinner,  but  they  soon  made  it  up  after- 
wards. But,  mother,  I  have  something  to  tell  you  ; 
do  you  know  I  have  had  a  visitor  ?" 

"  A  visitor — and  who  could  that  be  ? " 

"  Rose  Wicks  !  Yes,  mother,  you  may  well  open 
your  eyes ;  I  am  sure  I  did  mine  when  she  walked 
in,  it  is  so  long  since  she  has  been  to  see  us ;  and, 
mother,  do  you  know  I  think  she  is  so  changed 
since  the  confirmation — she  seems  somehow  so  much 
more  quiet  and  humble-like." 

"  I  am  right  glad  to  hear  it,  child,  for  to  tell  you 
the  truth,  I  was  afeard  Rose  Wicks  was  beginning 
to  get  a  little  light-headed  last  winter  ;  but  there 
now,  I  hope  she  has  taken  heed  to  all  that  good 
Mr.  Newton  has  said  to  her ;  and,  Patience  dear, 
when  you  get  a  chance  you  might  say  a  word  of 
counsel  to  her.  She  is  a  pretty  lass  and  soft  spoken, 
but  she  has  a  spirit  of  her  own,  and  Wicks  and 
his  wife,  I  fear  me  well,  they  don't  go  the  right 
way  to  manage  her." 

The  garden-gate  now  clicked,  and  Bob  and 
Willie  rushed  in  full  of  the  band-of-hope  meeting 


32  To  the  End. 

they  had  been  at,  and  eager  to  hear  the  latest  news 
of  George. 

Mrs.  Trueman  answered  all  their  questions,  and 
then  bade  Bob  reach  down  the  Bible,  for  "the 
church  clock  was  striking  nine,"  she  said,  and  she 
and  Patience  had  a  hard  day's  washing  before 
them. 

A  chapter  was  read,  prayer  was  offered,  and  by 
ten  o'clock  all  in  the  little  cottage  were  peacefully 
sleeping,  secure  in  the  care  of  Him  who  never 
slumbcreth  nor  sleepeth — the  God  of  the  widow 
and  the  fatherless. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


AN    "AT   HOME"   AT   THE   KNOLL. 

1IFTEEN— love;  thirty— love  ;  thirty- 
fifteen  ;  thirty— all !  " 

These  were  the  sounds  that  issued 
from  Dr.  Wilmot's  garden  one  bright 
afternoon  towards  the  end  of  July,  and  the  moss- 
covered,  velvety  lawn  looked  like  some  gay  parterre 
of  flowers  with  the  summer  costumes  that  were 
dotted  over  it. 

"  I  say,  Joan,  do  exert  yourself,  Violet  and  I 
don't  want  to  win  the  set  without  you  and  Newton 
getting  a  game." 

It  was  Harry  Wilmot  who  spoke,  and  with  a  well- 
directed  serve  he  sent  a  ball  straight  at  his  sister. 

"  Harry,  you  add  insult  to  injury  ;  your  serves 
are  aggravating  enough  at  the  best  of  times,  but 
on  hot  days  they  are  positively — " 
"  Cruel,  are  they  not,  Joan  ?  " 
"  Harry,  my  boy,  be    chivalrous   and    merciful, 

C 


34  To  the  End. 

young  ladies  are  not  expected  to  be  such  '  dabs ' 
at  lawn-tennis  as  the  students  at  Guy's.  Well, 
Newton,  how  are  you  and  Violet?  Miss  Violet, 
why  the  weather  seems  to  have  no  evil  effect  upon 
yOU — positively  you  look  as  cool  and  fresh  as  your 
namesakes  down  in  the  valley  yonder.  Harry 
has  been  doing  all  the  running  about  for  you,  I 
suppose ;  quite  right  too,  I  would  do  the  same  if 
I  were  in  his  place ;  keep  him  at  it,  and  then  he 
won't  have  time  to  launch  any  more  shafts  of  sar- 
casm at  his  sister,"  and  with  a  nod  and  a  smile 
Dr.  Wilmot  passed  on  to  the  cosy  party  seated  at 
tea  under  the  cedar-tree. 

The  old  house  had  been  made  to  disgorge  couches, 
easy-chairs,  rugs,  stools,  &c. ;  and  now  that  all 
these  were  temptingly  arranged  on  the  mossy  turf 
beneath  the  shade  of  spreading  branches,  the  old 
cedar-tree  looked  a  nook  by  no  means  to  be 
despised. 

"  Well,  Miss  Scott,  how  do  you  like  our  im- 
promptu drawing-room  ?  It  is  preferable  to  the 
house  in  this  weather,  isn't  it? — and  there  is  no  fear 
of  damp  with  this  plentiful  supply  of  rugs  that 
Harry  has  provided  for  us." 

"I  think  it  is  delightful,  doctor,"  and  Rachel 
Scott  leaned  back  in  her  easy-chair  as  she  spoke, 
and  gazed  up  at  the  blue  sky  through  the  thick- 
branches. 


An  "At  Home"  at  the  Knoll.  35 

"  I  was  just  telling  Edith  that  even  the  tea  seems 
more  delicately  flavoured,  I  think,  when  it  is  taken 
cut  of  doors." 

"  Ah,  I  don't  wonder  at  your  thinking  that, 
you  are  compelled  to  lead  such  a  shut-up  life." 

"  Yes,  but  when  I  do  get  out,  just  think  how  I 
enjoy  it !  I  don't  suppose  I  would  be  drinking  in 
the  delights  of  this  beautiful  day  with  half  such 
a  keen  sense  of  enjoyment  if  I  had  not  been  kept 
to  the  house  for  the  best  part  of  the  winter." 

"  Ah,  Rachel  doss  net  require  sunshiny  weather 
to  make  her  look  on  the  bright  side  of  things, 
does  she,  doctor?"  said  Mr.  Newton,  as  he  laid 
a  hand  on  the  back  of  his  cousin's  chair ;  "  she 
carries  sunshine  with  her." 

"  That  she  does,"  said  Dr.-  Wilmot ;  "  I  wish  all 
my  patients  did  the  same,  it  would  be  better  for 
them  and  for  me.  Ah,  here  comes  my  little  bit 
of  home  sunshine,  I  see,  with  a  cup  of  tea  for  her 
old  father.  Well,  Edith,  my  pet,  not  overcome 
with  your  duties  at  the  tea-table  ?  And  Violet  and 
Pansy,  my  sweet  flowerets,  what  have  you  been 
doing  to  make  yourselves  useful?"  and  stooping 
down  Dr.  Wilmot  lifted  a  child  on  to  each  knee. 

"  We  have  been  taking  round  the  bread  and 
butter,"  lisped  the  pretty  pair,  "  and  Mrs.  Newton 
said  we  did  it  very  nicely,"  whispered  Daisy,  while 
the  modest  Pansy  hung  her  head. 

c  2 


36  To  the  End. 

"  Oh !  and  you  haven't  been  eating  any,  I 
suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  we  did  have  one  little  piece." 

"  But  Edith  said  we  might,"  chimed  in  Daisy. 

"Oh  then,  if  Edith  said  you  might,  I  suppose 
I  mustn't  say  anything,"  and  Dr.  Wilmot  drew  the 
golden  heads  on  to  his  shoulder.  "  I  am  glad, 
however,  it  was  only  '  one  little  piece,'  for  that 
Scotch  bun  looks  very  rich  and  '  plummy,'  and  I 
shouldn't  like  nurse  to  pay  me  a  visit  to-morrow 
to  ask  for  one  of  the  black  bottles  off  the  shelf 
in  the  surgery." 

"  No,  and  we  shouldn't  like  it  either,"  and  the  little 
fair  faces  looked  apprehensive  at  the  suggestion. 

"  No,  I  am  sure  you  wouldn't,"  and  Dr.  Wilmot 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  laughing  merrily.  "As 
you  only  took  'one  little  piece,'  however,  I  don't 
think  you  need  look  so  woebegone,  for  I  dare  say, 
after  all,  I  shall  not  have  the  pleasure  of  a  visit 
from  nurse,  so  put  such  thoughts  out  of  your  heads, 
and  run  away  now  and  pick  up  balls  for  '  Sister 
Joan,'"  and  kissing  the  pair  fondly,  Dr.  Wilmot 
watched  them  trot  off  with  satisfaction. 

"  Dear  little  pets,"  said  Miss  Scott,  "  how  happy 
they  are  to  be  of  use  !  I  have  been  watching  that 
game  of  lawn-tennis  with  such  interest,  for  though 
I  don't  understand  the  rules,  I  like  to  see  the  deft 
way  in  which  the  ball  is  sent  backwards  and  for- 


An  "At  Home"  at  the  Knoll.  37 

wards.  Harry  never  seems  to  miss  a  chance ;  I 
suppose  he  is  a  capital  player,  Dr.  Wilmot  ? " 

"  Rather  too  capital,  I  am  afraid,  for  his  poor 
little  sister  Joan.  Frank  plays  well  to  Newton, 
and  what  a  pair  of  broad  shoulders  the  young 
fellow  has  brought  back !  Sea-voyages  evidently 
agree  with  him." 

"  Yes,  I  wish  Lawrence  looked  as  well ;  his  mother 
has  been  bemoaning  his  want  of  roses  all  the 
morning ;  but  a  curate's  life  in  the  east  end  of 
London  is  no  sinecure." 

"  No,  I  should  think  not ;  but,  Lawrence — is 
Lawrence  with  you  ?  Why,  to  be  sure  ;  there  he  is 
talking  to  the  wife.  I  must  go  over  and  speak  to 
him." 

The  face  that  turned  to  greet  Dr.  Wilmot  was 
a  very  pale  one,  but  the  deep  gray  eyes  were  clear 
and  sparkling,  and  the  firm  hand-clasp  the  doctor 
received  betokened  no  lack  of  vigour. 

"Why,  Lawrence,  my  dear  fellow,  I  thought 
you  were  hard  at  work  in  the  London  slums. 
How  came  I  not  to  see  you  when  I  was  cross- 
ing the  lawn  ?  You  were  in  the  back  garden. 
Ah,  I  thought  so ;  I  felt  sure  I  could  not  have 
overlooked  your  stalwart  form.  Well,  we  are  de- 
lighted to  have  you  back  again  amongst  us  once 
more,  aren't  we,  Janie?" — and  the  doctor  turned 
and  looked  appealingly  at  his  wife.  "  But  you  have 


38  To  the  End. 

lost  all  your  country  roses,  your  father  tells  me  ; 
ah,  you  do  look  rather  whitewashed — overworked, 
I  suppose  ? " 

"Overworked,  dear!  I  should  think  so,"  stole  in 
Mrs.  Wilmot's  soft  voice ;  "  do  you  know,  Henry, 
how  many  thousand  Lawrence  has  in  his  parish  ? 
Twenty-five ! " 

"  Twenty-five  ! — and  how  many  helpers  ?  " 

"  Only  the  vicar,  a  lay-reader,  and  myself,  and 
some  fifteen  to  twenty  Sunday-school  teachers 
and  district  visitors." 

"  Not  one  for  every  thousand ;  Lawrence,  my  dear 
fellow,  I  do  pity  you,"  and  the  doctor  sank  into 
a  seat  by  his  wife's  sofa. 

"  Pity  my  poor  people,  doctor,  don't  waste  your 
pity  on  me ;  I  wouldn't  change  my  lot  with  an 
emperor's,"  and  the  young  man  raised  his  head 
proudly.  "  I  assure  you  it  is  not  the  work  done 
that  kills,  it  is  the  work  left  undone — the  thought 
of  the  sheep  astray — astray  without  a  shepherd." 

"  But  even  that  care,  Lawrence,  you  can  lay  at 
the  feet  of  the  Good  Shepherd  ;  your  sheep  can 
never  wander  beyond  His  ken  ;  He  will  guide  both 
you  and  them." 

"  I  know  it,  doctor,  I  know  it,  and  when  I  look 
at  our  streets  and  alleys  with  their  teeming,  toiling 
masses,  that  is  the  thought  that  keeps  me  from 
despair." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

TWILIGHT     TALKS. 


jfHE  fierce  burning  July  sun  had  sunk 
in  a  blaze  of  glory,  and  lights  were 
beginning  to  twinkle  here  and  there 
in  the  old-fashioned  casements  of  "  The 
Knoll,"  when,  supper  over,  the  few  "intimates"  of 
Dr.  and  Mrs.  Wilmot  who  had  remained  to  spend 
the  evening,  strolled  out  through  the  open  windows 
to  the  verandah  and  the  lawn. 

Edith,  to  her  delight,  found  herself  pacing  the 
gravelled  pathways  side  by  side  with  Mr.  Newton, 
for  dearly  she  loved  a  talk  with  "  the  Vicar,"  while 
he,  eagerly  solicitous  for  the  welfare  of  the  young 
members  of  his  flock,  gladly  welcomed  every  oppor- 
tunity of  helping  them  with  advice  and  sympathy. 

"  Violet  tells  me  she  has  asked  you  for  a  district, 
Mr.  Newton." 

"  Yes,  and  with  her  father's  consent  I  have  given 
her  a  few  cottages — those  facing  the  Green." 

"  Where  the  Wicks  and  Widow  Smart  live,"  and 
Edith's  face  wore  a  wistful  expression. 


4o  To  the  End. 

Mr.  Newton  gazed  at  her  through  the  darken- 
ing twilight.  He  guessed  something  of  what  was 
passing  through  her  mind. 

"  Edith,  my  child,  you  can  work  for  God  as  dis- 
tinctly as  Violet  does  even  though  your  sphere 
does  not  extend  beyond  the  limits  of  home." 

Edith  raised  her  eyes  with  a  new  light  in  them 
— the  wistful  expression  was  gone. 

"  An  eldest  daughter  and  sister  has  such  a  wide 
area  of  usefulness,  I  always  think,  and  when  she 
brightly,  patiently,  and  conscientiously  takes  up 
her  several  duties  and  performs  them  all  to  the 
glory  of  God,  who  can  tell  to  what  extent  her 
influence  may  be  used,  nor  how  many  may  be 
blessed  through  her  bright  example  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Newton,  you  do  help  one  so.  Now  all 
this  week  I  have  been  thinking  that  perhaps  I  am 
drifting  too  much  with  circumstances,  our  home 
life  is  such  a  happy  one,  and  the  days  fly  past  so 
swifty.  Mother  is  not  strong,  and  there  are  so 
many  little  things  to  do ;  but  last  week  there 
flashed  across  me  the  thought  that  I  was  not 
working  at  all  for  God — that  I  had  no  district  or 
Sunday-school  class,  or  anything  of  that  sort,  I 
mean — and  then  I  remembered  all  the  Bishop 
said  at  our  Confirmation  about  life  being  a  battle 
and  we  being  soldiers,  and  I  began  to  be  afraid  that 
just  perhaps  because  I  was  so  happy  I  had  been 


Rose,  Rose,  don't  talk  like  that.     How  many  a  poor  London  girl  would  think 
your  little  home  a  Paradise  ! " — /.  53. 


TiviligJit  Talks.  43 


drifting  too  easily  with  the  tide,  that  perhaps  .  .  ." 
— and  Edith's  voice  faltered,  and  her  head  lowered 
— "  I  have  not  been  fighting  at  all." 

"  Edith,  my  child,  you  would  like  to  have  a 
district  ? " 

"Oh,  Mr.  Newton,  I  should — I  should — of  all 
things— but— " 

"But  if  you  took  one,  some  of  those  'little 
things '  to  which  you  alluded  so  casually  would  be 
thrown  on  the  shoulders  of  your  mother  (since 
Joan  is  still  in  the  school-room),  and  your  mother 
is  not  able  to  bear  them." 

"  That  is  just  it ;  mother  is  pretty  well  some 
days,  but  other  times  she  can  barely  lift  her  head 
from  the  pillow." 

"  Then  rest  content.  God  in  His  good  Provi- 
dence is  shutting  the  door  for  you  at  present  to 
outside  work  ;  your  work  for  Him  must  be  at 
home,  and  remember  that  piety  shown  at  home 
and  requital  of  parents  (we  have  it  on  God's  own 
authority)  is  'good  and  acceptable'  before  Him." 

"  Father,  the  school  -  mistress  wants  to  see 
you." 

Mr.  Newton  turned  to  obey  the  summons,  and 
Lawrence  Newton  took  his  father's  place  beside 
Edith. 

"  What  a  glorious  night ! — the  stars  are  as  bright 
as  diamonds." 


44  To  the  End. 

"  Aren't  they  ?  You  must  enjoy  this  taste  of 
country,  Lawrence,  after  London." 

"  That  I  do,  and  not  the  least  part  of  my  enjoy- 
ment is  the  seeing  of  old  friends  ;  it  is  not  the 
physical  atmosphere  of  London,  however,  that  is 
so  depressing,  h  is  the  spiritual  and  moral — the 
dull,  degraded,  hopeless  depths  into  which  most 
of  the  poor  (at  least  the  poor  around  me)  have 
sunk.  You  find  yourself  asking  wonderingly, 
1  Can  anything  that  I  can  say  penetrate  to  brains 
whose  one  thought  is  how  to  procure  the  bread  for 
which  they  are  starving  ?  Can  any  message  that 
I  can  bring  brighten  faces  whose  eyes  are  sunk 
and  wan  with  despair  ? ' — and  then  you  remember 
that  your  message  is  Divine." 

"  Oh,  Lawrence,  what  a  sad  picture  ! " 

"Sad,  but  true.  Why,  only  the  day  before 
yesterday,  up  in  a  dingy  attic  at  the  top  of  a  long 
stair,  I  came  across  a  young  girl — not  much  older 
than  you,  Edith,  and  yet  a  widow  (her  husband 
fell  from  a  scaffold  some  months  ago),  and  there 
she  was  toiling  for  dear  life  to  keep  her  mother, 
her  two  little  children  and  herself  from  starvation, 
and  what  do  you  think  were  the  munificent  wages 
she  was  receiving  ?  " 

o 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know." 

"Three-farthings  an  hour!  —  so  if  the  poor 
creature  could  keep  on  stitch !  stitch !  stitch !  for 


Twilight  Talks.  45 


twelve  hours  out  of  twenty-four,  on  the  Saturday 
night  she  would  receive  four-and-sixpence,  out  of 
which  she  would  have  to  pay  for  thread  and 
needles,  so  you  can  imagine  what  a  princely  sum 
would  be  left  for  fuel,  food,  and  shelter." 

"  Lawrence,  how  can  they  live  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  problem  I  leave  you  to  solve.  Eke 
out  existence  somehow  they  do  ;  but  if  the  poor  little 
bread-winner  were  to  break  down,  nothing  could  lie 
before  them  but  the  workhouse.  Yes,  truly,  as  my 
Vicar  said  to  me  the  other  day,  it  is  not  the  pleasures 
and  the  riches  of  this  world  that  choke  the  seed  we 
endeavour  to  sow  ;  it  is  the  cares,  the  sordid  grind- 
ing cares.  Thank  God,  there  is  a  bright  side  to  the 
picture,  however.  There  is  the  mission-room  with 
its  hearty  little  services,  and  oh,  how  I  love  to  hear 
the  poor  people  pouring  out  their  hearts  to  Him 
who  has  said,  '  Come  unto  Me,  all  ye  that  are 
weary  and  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest ! ' 
There  are  the  schools,  where  we  trust  we  are  train- 
ing the  children  for  better  and  brighter  things  ;  the 
Band  of  Hope  gatherings,  the  mothers'  meetings 
— all,  all  so  many  little  focusses  of  light  which  we 
hope  in  time  will  radiate  out  such  life-giving  beams 
that  the  entire  face  of  our  parish  shall  be  changed." 

Mr.  Newton's  talk  with  the  school-mistress  over, 
he  joined  the  party  in  the  drawing-room.  Violet 
IS'orman  was  singing,  but  twisting  herself  round  on 


46  To  the  End. 

the  music-stool,  she  suddenly  demanded  from  Frank 
Newton  "  a  yarn." 

"  Oh  yes,  Frank,  a  yarn,  a  yarn  ! "  shouted  Harry 
and  Joan  Wilmot,  and  yielding  to  the  popular 
demand,  Frank  led  the  way  to  the  verandah. 

Mr.  Newton  and  Margaret  Scott  exchanged 
amused  glances. 

"  What  a  difference  there  is  in  character ! "  said 
Mr.  Newton,  as  he  drew  a  stool  to  his  cousin's  side 
and  gazed  out  at  the  two  quiet  figures  who  were 
pacing  so  leisurely  up  and  down  the  lawn. 

"  That  there  is  ;  Edith  is  made  to  be  an  eldest 
sister." 

"  And  yet  she  thinks  she  is  not  doing  her  duty," 
and  Mr.  Newton  repeated  some  of  the  conversation 
that  had  taken  place  in  the  garden. 

"  Dear  child,  she  is  as  humble  as  she  is  unselfish. 
Why,  all  this  afternoon  she  has  been  battling  with 
her  inclinations — pouring  out  tea  instead  of  playing 
at  tennis,  talking  to  her  parents'  friends  instead  of 
talking  to  her  own,  playing  at  ball  with  the  children 
instead  of  listening  to  Violet  and  Frank  singing." 

"  Of  course  she  has — I  noticed  all  that.  Yes,  into 
the  warp  and  woof  of  everyday  life  Edith  hath 
begun  to  weave  the  golden  threads  of  love  and  self- 
sacrifice.  One  at  least  of  my  confirmation  candi- 
dates is,  I  trust,  following  in  the  footsteps  of  the 
blessed  Master  who  pleased  not  Himself." 


CHAPTER  IX. 


WAVERERS. 


HE  next  two  years  that  passed  over 
St.  Magna's  were  uneventful  ones  (if 
years  can  be  called  uneventful  in  which 
habits  are  being  formed,  and  character 
is  being  moulded  for  eternity).  Outwardly  how- 
ever there  was  nothing  to  disturb  the  still  tenor  of 
village  life.  Every  Monday  morning  Mrs.  Trueman 
and  Patience  were  to  be  seen  with  sleeves  rolled 
up  standing  at  the  wash-tub;  every  afternoon  Mr. 
Newton  was  to  be  met  with  swift  step  traversing 
the  parish  ;  each  day  and  all  hours  of  the  day  Dr. 
Wilmot's  brougham  rolled  along  with  its  red- 
painted  wheels. 

Sunday  brought  the  only  break  to  the  weekly 
routine — Sunday,  and  the  comings  and  goings  of 
Frank  Newton  and  Harry  Wilmot.  Of  late  these 
comings  and  goings  of  Harry  Wilmot's  had  been 
much  more  frequent  than  usual.  On  the  smallest 


48  To  the  End. 

possible  pretext  he  was  always  running  down  to 
St.  Magna's,  and  Edith  (if  no  one  else)  began  to 
suspect  that  Violet  Norman  was  the  magnet  that 
drew  him  so  constantly  homewards. 

This  knowledge  gave  Edith  some  compunction, 
for  she  feared  Violet  was  only  playing  with  her 
brother  ;  nor  were  her  surmises  incorrect,  for  to 
receive  and  to  be  pleased  with  Harry  VVilmot's 
attentions  was  in  Violet  Norman's  estimation  one 
thing — to  marry  him  and  to  settle  down  at  St. 
Magna's  quite  another. 

"Edith,  wish  me  joy!"  was  Violet's  salutation 
one  bright  spring  morning  as  she  entered  the 
school-room  of  the  Knoll.  "  I  am  going  to  Paris." 

"  To  Paris  ! "  And  Edith  in  her  astonishment 
let  fall  the  work  she  was  so  busy  over. 

"Yes,  to  Paris  ;  Mrs.  Richards  has  asked  me  to 
accompany  her.  At  first  papa  said  '  no,'  Paris  was 
so  far  away,  and  Mrs.  Richards — well,  he  doesn't 
particularly  care  for  her,  but  I  think  the  truth  was, 
he  was  afraid  of  that  nephew  of  hers  that  read  with 
him  some  years  ago  ;  but  Mrs.  Richards  assured 
him  we  should  be  quite  by  ourselves — no  dangerous 
articles  in  the  shape  of  gentlemen  anywhere  near ; 
and  I — I  begged  and  entreated,  and  so  the  end  of 
it  is,  here  am  I  come  to  ask  if  I  can  do  any  com- 
missions for  you  in  Paris,"  and  with  a  mock  courtesy 
Violet  pirouetted  before  Edith. 


Waverers.  49 

"  Violet,  you  quite  take  away  my  breath;  why, 
whatever  will  your  father  do  without  you  ?  " 

"  Do — why,  the  best  he  can,  and  when  I  return  I 
shall  be  received  with  open  arms,  and  Aunt  Hester 
will  actually  forget  to  scold  for  one  whole  day." 

"  Oh,  Violet,  I  am  sure  your  aunt  loves  you 
very  dearly." 

"  Loves  me ;  perhaps  she  does,  but  she  takes  a 
peculiar  way  of  showing  it.  No  doubt  it  is  my 
fault,  though,  that  I  am  so  constantly  in  her  black 
books.  I  do  so  dearly  love  to  shock  her.  I  like  to 
see  her  peer  over  her  blue  goggles  and  say, '  Violet, 
do  you  really  mean  it  ?  Well,  young  girls  must  be 
different  now  to  what  they  were  when  I  was  young.'  " 
And  Violet  drew  a  long  face,  and  imitated  with 
exaggerated  gesture  her  aunt's  demure  tones.  "  But, 
Edith,  I  see  I  am  shocking  you,  and  I  am  not 
going  to  stay  in  the  house  this  beautiful  morning 
talking  any  more  about  good  prim  old  Aunt  Hester. 
Throw  away  that  stupid  mend;ng  and  come  out 
in  the  garden;  Joan  must  hear  my  news." 

"  Violet,  what  will  you  do  about  your  district  ?  " 
said  Edith,  as  the  two  walked  together  over  the 
sunny  lawn. 

"  My  district.  Oh,  Mr.  Newton  must  look  after 
that." 

"  I  wonder  if  he  would  let  me  have  it  while  you 
are  away,"  and  a  thoughtful  look  came  into  Edith's 

D 


5o  To  the  End. 

blue  eyes.     "  Now  Joan  is  out  of  the  school-room 
mother  was  only  saying  yesterday  she  can   spare 
me  for  a  little  parish  work." 

"  Then  do  take  it,  and  keep  it  altogether  if  you 
like,  for  I  don't  think  district-visiting  is  my  voca- 
tion. I  never  know  what  to  say  to  the  old  bodies, 
and  I  am  tired  to  death  of  Mrs.  Wick's  incessant 
grumbling,  and  Mrs.  Brown's  laments  over  the 
difficulties  of  making  two  ends  meet." 

"  But,  Violet,  dear,"  was  Edith's  gentle  remon- 
strance, "  do  you  think  we  ought  to  give  up  a  duty 
because  it  is  perhaps  not  quite  tasteful  to  us  ?  " 

"  Now,  Edith,  pray  don't  begin  sermonizing,  I 
am  in  no  mood  for  lectures  this  morning.  Paris, 
beautiful,  bright  Paris  ! — I  can  think  of  nothing  but 
Paris  to-day.  Oh,  Joan  ! — where  is  Joan  ?  I  do  so 
long  to  tell  her  I  am  going ;  "  and  careering  along 
the  gravelled  pathways,  Violet  made  the  old  garden 
re-echo  with  her  calls. 

Edith  followed,  but  with  a  troubled  look  on  her 
face.  Her  thoughts  had  travelled  back  to  another 
spring  morning — bright  and  beautiful  as  this  one — • 
when  she  and  Violet  had  knelt  in  the  old  church 
at  St.  Magna's,  and  sworn  allegiance  to  the  same 
Master.  How  wrapt  in  devotion  Violet  had  seemed 
then,  how  earnestly  she  had  sung — 

"  O  Jesus,  I  have  promised 
To  serve  Thee  to  the  end  !  " 


Waverers.  5 1 

And  now — now  was  she  already  beginning  to  waver 
in  that  allegiance  ?  Was  she  thirsty  after  waters  that 
seemed  more  sweet,  after  pastures  that  appeared 
more  fair  ?  Oh,  Edith  hoped  not,  she  trusted  not ; 
and  swiftly  to  the  blue  sky  was  raised  a  cry  for 
her  friend — a  cry  that  in  after  years  was  answered, 
but  through  what  trials  ?  Ah,  pretty,  foolish  Violet, 
choosing  your  own  way  and  following  the  bent 
of  your  own  inclinations  to  the  narrow  path — you 
can  only  be  brought  back  by  the  weary  road  of 
suffering! 

Some  two  weeks  later  the  wicket-gate  of  one  of 
the  cottages  in  Violet  Norman's  district  was  pushed 
open  by  Edith  Wilmot,  and  as  she  walked  up  the 
tiny  garden  she  stood  for  a  moment  admiring  the 
lilies  of  the  valley  and  the  crocuses  with  which 
the  little  red-tiled  path  was  bordered. 

Angry  voices  from  within  warned  her  that  a 
family  altercation  was  taking  place  ;  so,  anxious 
not  to  become  a  listener,  Edith  hastened  her  steps. 
Just  as  shs  reached  the  porch  a  man's  voice  shouted, 
"  Then  to  London  you  shan't  go  ;  for  once,  for  all, 
I  forbid  it,"  and  the  back-door  slammed  angrily. 

Edith  knocked,  and  light  footsteps  were  heard 
running  quickly  up-stairs,  while  a  weak  voice  in  a 
querulous  tone  bade  the  visitor  enter. 

"  Good  afternoon,  Mrs.  Wicks  ;  Miss  Norman  has 

D  2 


52  To  the  End. 

gone  away,  so  I  have  come  to  see  you  instead  of 
her." 

"  And  has  Miss  Norman  gone  away  ?  Well,  miss, 
I'll  make  so  bold  as  to  say  I  hope  yc'll  come  a 
bit  more  regular  than  she  did,  for  our  club  money 
is  that  behind  I  hardly  know  when  last  I  paid  it ; 
but  sit  you  down,  sit  you  down,  and  I'll  look  for 
my  card  by  and  by.  But  Rose  and  her  father,  they 
have  been  having  one  of  their  upsets  again,  and 
their  upsets  upset  me — that  they  do ;  my  breath 
is  just  all  nohow;"  and  Mrs.  Wicks  undid  her 
cap-strings,  and  wiped  her  face  with  her  pocket- 
handkerchief. 

Edith  walked  to  the  window  and  began  remarking 
on  the  beauty  of  some  flowers  that  stood  on  the 
sill,  for  she  did  not  wish  to  mar  her  first  visit  by 
entering  on  uncongenial  family  topics. 

Mrs.  Wicks,  however,  was  not  to  be  balked  of  a 
grumble  when  she  had  the  chance  of  a  sympathetic 
listener,  and  back  again  she  went  to  her  grievance. 

"You  see,  miss,  it's  all  along  o'  that  there 
Lunnon.  Rose,  she's  wild  for  a  sight  o'  the  place, 
and  Wicks,  the  name  of  it  is  enough  for  him,  ever 
since  his  sister  Jessie  that  was — she  that  lived  down 
in  the  hollow.  Ah,  you  won't  remember  her,  but 
the  doctor  he  would  sure — the  prettiest  girl  all 
round  the  country-side,  and  as  tall  and  straight 
as  an  arrow.  Well,  as  I  was  a  say  in',  Wicks,  he 


Wavercrs.  5  3 

can't  bide  the  name  of  Lunnon  ever  since  Jess 
— pretty  Jess — took  herself  there.  She  came  back 
with  a  broken  heart,  and  six  months  saw  the  last 
of  her.  But  Rose,  she  won't  listen  to  such  tales ; 
St.  Magna's,  it's  a  deal  too  dull  for  her." 

Once  again  Edith  tried  to  turn  the  conversation, 
and  this  time  more  successfully.  Mrs.  Wicks'  re- 
marks were  not  unnoted  though,  and  when  Rose 
(the  traces  of  tears  washed  from  her  pretty  eyes) 
accompanied  their  visitor  to  the  garden-gate,  Edith 
laid  a  hand  on  the  young  girl's  arm. 

"  Rose,  I  always  feel  that  there  is  a  special  link 
between  you  and  me  ever  since  that  happy  day 
when  we  were  confirmed  together." 

"  Yes,  miss,"  said  Rose,  but  her  tone  was  an  un- 
interested one ;  "  why,  that's  two  year  ago  come 
Easter,  but  it  se^ms  more  like  four — time  goes  so 
slowly  in  this  stupid  little  place." 

"Don't  call  St.  Magna's  stupid,  Rose;  it  is  our 
home,  and  where  God  has  placed  us." 

"  Ah,  life  goes  differently  to  you  gentlefolks,  miss, 
to  what  it  does  to  we  poor  cottagers.  I'm  tired  to 
death  of  being  mewed  up  in  our  little  place,  with 
nothing  to  listen  to  but  grumbling — grumbling 
— grumbling." 

"  Rose,  Rose,  don't  talk  like  that.  How  many  a 
poor  London  girl  would  think  your  little  home  a 
Paradise ! " 


54  To  tlie  End. 

"  Ah,  some  folks  like  dullness,  but  I  am  not  one 
of  them,"  and  Rose  pulled  open  the  garden-gate 
with  a  bang. 

"  But  a  soldier  does  not  choose  in  battle  the  post 
lie  likes,  he  goes  where  his  commander  sends  him, 
and,  Rose"  (and  Edith's  voice  lowered),  "you  and 
I  promised  to  be  soldiers — good  soldiers  of  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ's !  Oh,  let  us  be  faithful  to 
Him,  and  serve  Him  to  the  end  ! " 

Rose  shut  the  gate  with  a  greater  bang  than  she 
had  opened  it,  and  Edith  with  a  sad  heart  walked 
across  the  green. 

Was  Rose  too  beginning  to  waver  in  her  alle- 
giance ?  Was  she  forsaking  the  living  fountains  of 
waters,  and  hewing  out  for  herself  cisterns — broken 
cisterns  that  could  hold  no  water  ? 

With  a  sigh  Edith  turned  and  looked  at  the 
little  cottage  nestling  so  peacefully  among  the  tall 
elms ;  but  remembering  the  promise,  "  Be  careful 
for  nothing,  but  in  everything  by  prayer  and  sup- 
plication with  thanksgiving,  let  your  requests  be 
made  known  unto  God,"  the  sigh  was  turned  into 
a  prayer. 


CHAPTER   X. 


THE   DARKENED   HOME. 


HE  Jungfrau  in  all  its  snowy  loveliness 
was  standing  out  pure  and  cool  against 
the  deep  blue  summer's  sky,  when  a 
party  of  English  tourists  (their  hands 
filled  with  letters)  seated  themselves  on  the  verandah 
of  the  Grand  Hotel  de  Miirren. 

"  Now,  Miss  Norman,  don't  tell  us  St.  Magna's 
has  a  clean  bill  of  health  yet,  or  we  shall  be  having 
you  summoned  home." 

The  speaker,  a  tall,  dark  young  man,  with  a  florid 
(too  florid)  complexion,  gazed  into  Violet  Norman's 
face  with  a  meaning  smile  as  he  spoke. 

Violet  bent  her  head  to  hide  her  blushes,  and 
busily  employed  herself  opening  her  letters. 

"  Yes,  Lionel,  you  may  thank  the  fever  for  giving 
you  Miss  Norman  as  a  travelling  companion,"  said 
Mrs.  Richards,  from  the  depth  of  a  rocking-chair, 
"  for  I  had  hard  work — hadn't  I,  Violet — to  persuade 


56  To  the  End. 

your  father  to  allow  you  to  accompany  me  even 
as  far  as  Paris  ?  " 

But  Violet  was  deep  in  her  letters. 

"  Mrs.  Richards,"  she  said  at  length,  looking  up 
with  a  startled  expression,  "  what  do  you  think  ? 
— Dr.  Wilmot  has  the  fever." 

"  Dr.  Wilmot  ? — let  me  see,  I  don't  know  much 
about  your  local  magnates — is  not  that  the  cheery- 
faced  man  that  drives  about  in  the  brougham 
with  the  red  wheels  ?  Ah,  I  thought  so  ;  is  ha  a 
great  friend  of  your  father's  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  his  daughters  are  great  friends  of 
mine,"  and  Violet  gazed  across  at  the  Jungfrau 
with  a  troubled  face. 

"Ton  my  word,  Miss  Norman,  I  have  half  a 
mind  to  catch  the  fever  myself,  if  catching  it  excites 
your  sympathy  so." 

But  Lionel  Richards'  words  grated  harshly  on 
Violet,  and  she  forgot  to  blush  this  time. 

"  Does  your  father  say  the  doctor's  is  a  bad 
case?"  asked  Mrs.  Richards. 

"  Yes,  they  had  sent  for  a  London  doctor.  Our 
laundress's  little  girl,  Mary  Trucman,  died  on 
Wednesday  night,  and  Dr.  Wilmot  was  with  her 
to  the  last ;  on  the  Thursday  he  sickened  himself, 
and  now,  papa  says,  is  lying  quite  insensible.  Poor 
Mrs.  Wilmot,  what  will  she  do  ? — and  Edith  and 
Joan  they  just  adored  their  father." 


The  Darkened  Home.  57 

This  was  the  question  all  St.  Magna's  was  asking 
that  afternoon  too,  as  with  sad  faces  and  tearful 
eyes  they  turned  away  in  the  bright  summer's  sun- 
shine from  the  doors  of  the  closed  Knoll.  What 
would  Mrs.  Wilmot  and  the  children  do?  what 
would  they  all  do  ? — for  their  good  doctor  had  been 
taken  away  from  them.  Never  again  would  his  quiet, 
firm  step  cross  the  threshold  of  their  dwellings ; 
never  again  would  his  bright,  cheerful  voice  calm  and 
soothe  them  in  their  hours  of  sickness  and  suffering. 

Yes,  St.  Magna's  felt  very  desolate  that  after- 
noon, though  the  sky  had  not  a  cloud  in  it,  and 
the  larks  were  warbling  out  their  very  little  hearts 
for  joy;  and  if  St.  Magna's  felt  sad  and  desolate, 
what  was  the  depth  of  the  blank  in  the  hearts  of 
the  widow  and  the  orphans  ? 

Ah,  sorrow  such  as  theirs  is  not  to  be  dwelt 
upon,  it  can  only  be  carried  in  faith  to  the  feet  of 
Him  who  says, "  I  know  their  sorrows  ;"  who  binds 
up  the  broken-hearted  and  heals  their  wounds. 

When  the  blinds  of  the  Knoll  were  drawn  up 
again  and  life's  duties  had  once  more  to  be  faced, 
Edith  felt  as  if  she  was  walking  the  world  in  a 
dream.  It  seemed  so  strange  that  the  sun  should 
shine,  and  all  the  little  details  of  every-day  life  have 
to  be  observed,  when  he  round  whom  all  this  home- 
life  circled,  who  was  its  earthly  mainspring  and 
centre,  was  gone ;  and  had  it  not  been  for  the 


58  To  the  End. 

strength  and  the  courage  drawn  from  the  minutes 
spent  in  prayer  in  her  little  wainscoted  bedroom, 
Edith  hardly  knew  how  those  first  terrible  weeks 
could  have  been  got  through. 

It  was  such  anguish  to  take  down  from  the  pegs 
in  the  hall  the  hats  and  the  coats  that  had  hung 
there  so  long,  and  Edith  could  hardly  see  for 
blinding  tears  the  creases  she  was  smoothing  out 
so  reverently,  as  she  carefully  folded  away  each 
precious  article.  Then  what  heart-breaking  it  was 
to  sit  at  meals  and  never,  never  to  hear  the  sound 
of  the  red  wheels  rolling  up  the  avenue  ;  never  to 
spring  forward  to  meet  the  glad  welcome  ;  never  to 
receive  the  loving  smile,  to  hear  the  hearty  words 
of  commendation  with  which  Dr.  Wilmot  always 
greeted  every  little  act  of  duty  performed  by  "  his 
little  bit  of  home  sunshine." 

Yes,  the  chasm  in  Edith's  life  was  a  terribly 
yawning  one.  Every  hour,  every  minute  of  the 
day  she  missed  the  dear,  fatherly  love  that  had 
always  so  guarded  and  guided  her  ;  but  the  loss 
of  this  precious  earthly  father  only  drove  her  to 
walk  more  closely  with  her  Heavenly  Father,  and 
to  seek  to  lighten  by  every  means  in  her  power 
the  weight  of  sorrow  that  rested  on  her  mother — 
her  mother  whose  grief  was  so  much  deeper  than 
her  own. 

Mrs.  Wilmot  had  made  up  her  mind  to  leave 


Tlie  Darkened  Home.  59 

St.  Magna's,  and  to  make  a  home  in  London  for 
her  sons ;  for  Cuthbert,  the  second  boy,  was  about 
to  enter  one  of  the  hospitals  as  a  student,  and 
Harry  had  not  yet  taken  his  degree.  The  locum 
tenens  was  anxious  as  soon  as  possible  to  take 
possession  of  the  Knoll,  so  the  next  few  weeks 
were  busy  ones ;  but  prayer  and  work  are  the  best 
antidotes  to  sorrow. 

The  last  Sunday  evening  came  at  length,  and  as 
the  rays  of  the  setting  sun  streamed  through  the 
painted  glass  windows  of  St.  Magna's  church, 
tinting  the  delicate  tracery  of  the  nave  and  arches^ 
and  lighting  up  the  old-fashioned  galleries,  they 
rested  for  a  while  on  the  bowed  head  of  Edith 
Wilmot,  as  with  a  heart  full  of  surging  emotions  she 
knelt  for  the  last  time  in  her  accustomed  corner. 

"  The  barrel  of  meal  shall  not  waste,  neither  shall 
the  cruse  of  oil  fail,"  was  the  text  chosen,  and  in 
a  few  brief  words  Mr.  Newton  sketched  the  life- 
history  of  the  lone  widow  of  Zarephath.  "  This 
poor  woman,"  he  said,  "  must  have  been  doing  in  the 
eyes  of  the  worldly  wise  a  very  foolish  thing  when 
she  took  of  her  handful  of  meal  to  make  a  cake 
for  a  stranger ;  but  she  was  obeying  the  voice  of 
the  Lord  at  the  hand  of  His  Prophet.  God  had 
promised  to  take  care  of  her  future ;  she  trusted 
to  Him  for  it. 

"Are  any  of  you,  my  hearers,"  said  Mr.  Newton, 


Co  To  the  End. 

"  passing  through  a  similar  expsrience  to  this  poor 
woman  ?  Is  the  meal  in  your  barrel  reduced  to  a 
handful  ?  The  oil  in  your  cruse,  is  it  almost  wasted  ? 
Learn  a  lesson  from  the  widow  of  Zarephath  :  obey 
God,  trust  Him ;  the  path  of  obedience  must  be 
always  the  path  of  blessing.  '  Who  is  among 
you  that  feareth  the  Lord,  that  obeyeth  the  voice 
of  His  servant,  that  walksth  in  darkness  and  hath 
no  light?  let  him  trust  in  the  name  of  the  Lord, 
and  stay  upon  his  God.  The  barrel  of  meal  shall 
not  waste,  neither  shall  the  cruse  of  oil  fail.'  " 

Edith  walked  home  in  the  setting  sun  with  a 
face  of  chastened  calm.  Behind  her  there  lay  the 
sunny  days  of  childhood  and  girlhood,  before  her 
stretched  an  untried  future.  Not  altogether  dark 
was  her  horizon,  however ;  upon  it  there  gleamed 
a  sure  star  of  promise — "  The  barrel  of  meal  shall 
not  waste,  neither  shall  the  cruse  of  oil  fail." 


CHAPTER   XI. 


ADELBERT   TERRACE. 

H,  Edith,  surely  the  cabman  has  made 
a  mistake  !  You  don't  mean  to  say 
that  this  wretched  house  is  to  be  our 
home  ? " 

It  was  Joan  Wilmot  who  spoke,  and  as  she 
peered  out  of  the  window  of  the  fly  her  face  ex- 
pressed the  most  intense  disgust.  Edith  jumped 
up  and  tapped  her  sister  warningly  on  the  foot ; 
then  exclaiming,  "  Mother  dear,  here  we  are,"  she 
jumped  out  of  the  cab,  and  proceeded  carefully  to 
help  her  mother  out. 

Poor  Mrs.  Wilmot !  It  was  with  a  very  heavy 
heart  that  she  lifted  her  deep  crape  veil  and  gazed 
at  her  new  home,  after  the  children  had  left  her  to 
.see  about  the  luggage.  Blinding  tears  prevented 
her  seeing  much,  but  what  little  she  did  see  formed 
a  painful  contrast  to  the  brightness  and  the  comfort 
of  the  Knoll.  It  was  not  the  comforts  of  the  Knoll, 


62  To  the  End. 

however,  that  Mrs.  Wilmot's  heart  was  yearning 
for  ;  it  was  its  associations — the  tender  associations 
that  clung  and  clustered  round  even  every  article 
of  furniture  in  her  old  home — the  home  whose 
threshold  she  had  first  crossed  as  a  young  bride. 

"  Oh,  Edith,  how  can  we  ever  live  here  ? "  asked 
Joan,  as,  the  boxes  carried  up-stairs  and  the  cabman 
paid,  the  two  girls  gazed  out  of  a  window  of  one  of 
the  back  bedrooms,  at  the  rows  upon  rows  of  tall 
chimneys  from  which  showers  of  black  smuts  were 
falling.  "  There  is  not  a  tree  to  be  seen — not  a  blade 
of  grass — not  a  flower — nothing  but  roofs  and 
chimneys  ;  I  feel  stifled  already,"  and  burying  her 
face  in  her  hands,  Joan  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears. 

Edith's  eyes  were  wet  too,  but  she  struggled 
bravely  with  her  emotion  ;  then  laying  a  hand  on 
her  sister's  shoulder  she  said  gently — 

"Joan,  Joan,  don't  cry  like  that,  please— please 
don't ;  mother  will  see  by  your  eyes  what  you  have 
been  doing,  and  we  must  control  ourselves  for  her 
sake.  I  know  it  is  hard  work,  darling,  but  do,  do 
think  of  mother." 

"  Edith,  I  have  no  patience  with  you  ;  you  expect 
people  to  go  along  just  like  machines,"  and  Joan 
shook  her  sister's  hand  angrily  from  her  shoulder. 
"  And  as  to  my  not  thinking  of  mother,  is  it  not 
partly  for  her  I  am  grieving  ?  Mother  knows  how  I 
loved  the  Knoll,  however,  and  I  am  sure  she  docs 


Adelbert  Terrace.  63 


not  expect  us  to  be  so  hard-hearted  as  to  leave  it 
without  a  tear.  Dear,  dear  old  place  !  And  here  we 
shall  have  no  pony  to  ride,  and  no  garden  to  play 
tennis  in " — and  burying  her  face  in  her  hands, 
Joan's  sobs  broke  forth  anew. 

Edith  gave  a  weary  little  sigh  as  she  took  off 
her  hat  and  placed  it  on  the  bed.  What  different 
things  people  yearned  for !  The  pony  and  the 
garden— why,  she  had  hardly  thought  of  them  ;  it 
was  her  father's  love  and  the  old  home  feeling  for 
which  her  heart  was  so  sorely  pining. 

Knowing  that  her  sister  was  tired  and  dispirited, 
however,  she  attempted  no  further  remonstrance, 
but  after  folding  away  her  things,  she  said — 

"Joan,  dear,  I  am  going  down  to  look  after 
mother,  and  see  about  the  supper  ;  come  down 
when  you  are  ready,  will  you  ?  I  am  sure  a  cup 
of  tea  will  do  you  good." 

Before  descending  to  the  dining-room,  Edith 
knelt  for  a  few  minutes  in  an  unoccupied  room  on 
the  other  side  of  the  passage,  and  earnestly  besought 
God  to  bless  their  new  home,  and  to  give  to  each 
one  grace  and  strength  to  take  up  the  duties  that 
lay  before  them,  and  to  fill  to  His  glory  the  niche 
that  He  had  assigned  to  them  ;  then  with  a  face 
of  calm  quiet  peace  she  went  gently  down-stairs. 

Settling  into  a  new  home  to  hearts  that  have 
any  tenacity  of  affection  is  not  altogether  a 


64  To  tJie  End. 

pleasurable  occupation,  even  when  the  new  home  is 
in  most  respects  an  improvement  on  the  old  ;  but 
when  (as  in  the  case  of  the  Wilmots)  the  new  home 
is  not  only  not  superior  to  the  old,  but  infinitely  its 
inferior,  the  task  is  certainly  a  painful  one. 

Every  hour  of  the  day,  it  seemed  to  Edith,  the 
two  maids  that  had  been  brought  from  the  Knoll 
would  come  running  to  ask  her  how  they  could  get 
along  without  this  thing,  or  how  they  could  possibly 
manage  without  that,  and  it  required  considerable 
skill  and  ingenuity  to  devise  ways  for  filling  in  such 
a  large  family  party  to  such  close  quarters. 

The  little  ones  and  their  nurse  were  for  the 
present  (through  Mrs.  Muir's  kindness)  safely 
housed  at  the  Home  Farm  ;  Mary  and  Bertie  at 
the  Rectory,  and  Cuthbert  and  Harry  were  striving 
to  gain  fresh  vigour  and  energies  for  their  winter 
studies  among  the  Welsh  mountains.  All  were  to 
assemble  under  the  new  family  roof-tree,  however, 
in  the  course  of  a  week  or  ten  days,  and  Edith 
determined  that  Adelbert  Terrace  should  wear  its 
most  comfortable  aspect  to  greet  them. 

Comforts  do  not  fall  into  the  lap  though  like  ripe 
apples  from  a  tree  in  autumn  ;  time  and  labour 
must  be  expended  upon  them,  or  money  is  required 
to  procure  them,  and  of  this  latter  article  Edith  was 
determined  not  to  beg  from  her  mother  ;  for  though 
Dr.  Wilmot  had  left  his  family  fairly  well  provided 


A  delbcrt  Terrace.  65 

for,  as  long  as  the  boys'  education  formed  such  a 
heavy  item  in  the  yearly  expenditure,  there  was 
no  surplus  cash  for  luxuries. 

Of  the  sum  devoted  to  the  move,  though,  there 
was  still  a  small  balance  left  in  hand,  and  with  this 
Edith  procured  some  cretonnes  and  chintzes.  Then 
a  tour  of  the  house  was  made  ;  dingy  curtains  were 
pulled  down  and  new  substituted,  faded  arm-chairs 
were  covered,  musty  bed-hangings  were  thrown 
away,  and  everything  that  Joan  declared  "  alto- 
gether too  unbearably  ugly  "  was  consigned  to  the 
top  garret.  The  little  room  that  Mrs.  Wilmot  had 
chosen  for  her  own  sanctum  received  special  care, 
most  of  the  precious  articles  that  had  been  brought 
from  the  Knoll  going  to  ornament  it ;  but  about 
the  large  top  room,  which  was  designed  for  the 
nursery,  Edith  was  almost  in  despair.  What  could 
make  the  sickly  paper  look  less  bare,  or  the  light 
woodwork  more  bright  ?  Joan,  however,  who  had 
something  of  the  eye  of  an  artist,  here  came  to  the 
rescue.  Why  not  have  some  of  the  pictures  from 
their  old  Christmas  annuals  cheaply  framed  and 
hung  up  ?  And  if  Edith  could  produce  some  scraps, 
she  would  paste  them  on  the  panels  of  the  door 
and  varnish  them  ;  then  the  chimney-piece  could 
bs  covered  with  red  cloth,  and  the  faded  carpet 
covered  with  a  bright  drugget. 

"  Splendid  suggestions,"  said  Edith,  and  she 

E 


66  To  the  End. 

proceeded  immediately  to  act  upon  them,  for  poor 
little  Bertie  and  "the  flowerets"  would  miss  sorely 
the  fields  and  the  lanes,  and  they  would  now  have 
no  long  corridors  and  large  garden  to  play  in. 

Edith's  last  touches  of  decoration  were  just  being 
put  to  Adelbert  Terrace  when  the  cab  containing 
Harry  and  Cuthbert  rolled  up  to  the  door,  and 
with  a  back  that  ached  with  stooping,  and  eyes  that 
were  weak  with  working,  she  ran  down  to  welcome 
them.  All  sense  of  fatigue  was  forgotten,  though, 
some  two  hours  later,  when,  turning  to  his  mother, 
Harry  said — 

"  Well,  mother,  I  don't  know  whether  I  was  in 
the  blues  the  last  time  I  saw  Adelbert  Terrace,  but 
certainly  I  thought  it  the  dullest  little  hole  imagin- 
able, but  now  it  looks  quite  transformed.  Is  it  your 
presence  that  has  cast  such  a  glamour  over  it  ?  " 

"  Edie  and  Joan  are  the  magicians  that  have 
worked  the  transformation,"  said  Mrs.  Wilmot,  and 
her  loving  look  of  thanks  more  than  repaid  Edith 
for  all  her  toil. 


CHAPTER   XII. 


TAKE   UP  THE  CROSS. 

UMMER  had  come  and  gone,  and  a 
bright  log  fire  was  crackling  and  blaz- 
ing on  the  hearth  of  the  parlour  at  the 
Home  Farm.  The  parlour  was  a  very 
cheery  room,  as  what  room  was  not  where  Mrs. 
Muir  reigned  supreme  ?  The  deep,  old-fashioned 
bow  windows  were  cosily  draped  with  warm  red 
hangings,  and  in  the  embrasures  stood  large  blue 
pots  of  bright-coloured  chrysanthemums.  Round 
the  delicately-tinted  walls  ran  a  dark  oak  wain- 
scoting, and  the  oval  mirrors  reflected  tables 
covered  with  books  and  work,  and  low  cosy  chairs 
that  seemed  to  invite  you  to  rest  in  them. 

Ruth's  couch  was  drawn  up  to  the  fire,  and 
beside  it  stood  a  large  basket  filled  with  work  ; 
her  fingers  did  not  seem  in  a  very  busy  mood, 
though,  to-night,  and  Mrs.  Muir  kept  gazing  across 
from  her  writing  at  her  niece,  wondering  why  the 

E  2 


68  To  the  End. 

knitting  was  laid  down  so  often,  and  why  the  gray 
eyes  gazed  so  gravely  into  the  fire. 

"  Ruthie,  my  bairnie,"  at  last  she  ventured  to 
say,  "is  your  back  troubling  you  to-night  ?" 

"  No,  auntie  dearie  ; "  but  the  heavily-fringed 
eyelids  drooped,  and  the  knitting  was  seized  upon 
with  avidity. 

Something  was  ailing  the  child,  what  could  it 
be  ?  Never  mind,  it  would  come  out  presently. 

Tea  over,  Mrs.  Muir  proceeded  to  unpack  a 
large  parcel  of  wool  that  had  arrived  from  the 
north  that  morning,  then  drawing  a  stool  to 
Ruth's  couch,  she  began  winding  the  pretty, 
heathery  mixtures. 

"  Mrs.  Gillespie  has  sent  us  a  fine  collection  this 
time,  hasn't  she,  Ruthie  ?  See  what  a  delicate 
gray  yon  Shetland  is,  and  how  prettily  speckled 
is  that  Alloa  yarn,  and  do  you  know  what  I  was 
thinking,  childie  ? — that  you  might  make  a  cloud 
for  Edith  Wilmot." 

"Oh,  Aunt  Janie,  that  would  be  nice,"  and  the 
grave  eyes  became  bright  again. 

"  Set  to  work,  my  bairnie,  then,  and  I'll  try  and 
make  a  few  things  for  the  bit  Iambics  ;  it  will  be 
a  sorry  Christmas  for  them  all  this  year,  and  I 
should  like  them  to  think  there  are  some  real 
hearts  at  St.  Magna's  that  aye  remember  them." 

"  Violet  says   that   Joan   can't    bear  the  life  in 


Take  up  the  Cross.  69 

Londoq.  Sheets  after  sheets  she  writes  to  her 
full  of  complaints." 

"  And  how  much  better  it  would  be  for  the  poor 
lassie  if  the  time  she  took  in  writing  those  sheets 
were  spent  in  telling  the  Lord  Jesus  her  troubles. 
He  can  help  her,  but  Violet  can't.  No,  Ruthie, 
there's  no  good  in  kicking  at  the  Cross  ;  we  must 
aye  pray  for  grace  and  strength  to  take  it  Jip,  and 
to  follow  the  Blessed  Master  wherever  He  leads. 
It's  a  lesson  we  take  years  to  spell  out,  and  that 
we're  over  and  over  again  turned  in,  but  it's  a 
lesson  once  harnt  that  brings  peace  and  happiness." 

Silence  was  only  broken  by  the  spluttering  of 
the  wooden  logs  and  the  click  of  Ruth's  needles. 

"  Has  Violet  been  here  to-day?"  asked  Mrs.  Muir. 

"Yes,  auntie,  didn't  you  see  her?  She  went 
out  to  the  garden  to  look  for  you." 

"  No,  childie,  but  perhaps  I  was  in  the  orchard 
— the  pippins  are  fine  this  year,  and  I  went  up  to 
see  about  the  storing  of  them." 

Another  silence.  Mrs.  Muir  was  thinking — could 
this  visit  have  had  anything  to  do  with  Ruth's  fit 
of  absorption  ? 

Violet  was  fond  of  coming  to  the  Home  Farm, 
and  lately  Mrs.  Muir  had  encouraged  her,  for  Ruth 
missed  Edith  Wilmot  sorely,  and  she  thought  it 
would  do  the  child  good  to  hear  Violet's  foreign 
experiences.  A  breath  of  Swiss  air,  even  at  second- 


70  To  the  End. 

hand,  sometimes  conveys  a  tonic  to  a  poor  shut- 
up  invalid.  These  visits  had  not  had  the  exhilar- 
ating effect  upon  Ruth,  though,  that  Mrs.  Muir 
had  hoped  for  ;  in  fact,  after  them  she  seemed  more 
quiet  and  grave  ;  while  after  a  talk  with  Edith  her 
whole  face  would  sparkle  with  sunshine.  Into  the 
shut-up  restricted  life  Violet  never  seemed  to 
infuse  any  brightness  or  ozone,  but  only,  somehow 
or  other,  to  impress  the  invalid  with  a  sense  of 
how  much  she  missed,  and  of  her  lack  of  power. 

Ah,  what  a  subtle  thing  influence  is ! — and  how 
easy  it  is  to  make  others  look  out  on  life  through 
our  own  jaundiced  spectacles.  Envy,  dissatisfac- 
tion, restlessness,  how  easily  they  can  be  communi- 
cated, while  who  among  us  does  not  know  the 
impetus,  thank  God,  that  can  be  given  to  us  by 
the  strong  faith  of  a  friend  ? 

Violet  never  succeeded  though  in  making  Ruth 
discontented  with  her  lot ;  the  patient  quiet  girl 
followed  her  Saviour  too  closely  for  that ;  but 
what  she  did  was,  by  useless  bemoanings  over  the 
invalid's  lack  of  power,  and  frequent  allusions  to 
all  that  she  missed,  thoroughly  to  depress  the  poor 
girl  with  the  sense  of  her  own  uselessness. 

This  was  the  thought  that  was  weighing  so 
heavily  on  Ruth  to-ni^ht.  How  she  longed  to  be 
up  and  doing,  breaking  her  alabaster  box  at  the 
feet  of  the  Master ! 


Take  up  the  Cross.  71 

"  Auntie,"  she  said  at  length,  "  I  have  been  think- 
ing over  what  you  said  just  now  about  kicking  at 
the  Cross,  and  I  think  I  have  been  kicking  at 
mine  to-day." 

"  Have  you,  dearie — how  ? " 

The  pale  face  flushed,  and  the  gray  eyes  hid 
themselves  beneath  their  long  lashes  as  with  a 
slight  tremor  in  her  voice  Ruth  said,  "  I  have 
been  so  longing  to  be  up  and  doing ;  all  the  after- 
noon I  have  been  thinking — thinking — thinking  of 
all  that  I  might  do  if  only  I  was  strong  and 
active." 

The  firelight  flickered  on  the  walls,  but  Mrs. 
Muir  made  no  answer. 

"  Have  I  been  wrong,  auntie  ? " 

"  Yes,  Ruthie,  I  think  you  have,  but  I  don't  feel 
as  if  I  could  say  a  word  to  you,  it  is  a  temptation 
I  have  so  often  given  in  to." 

"  You,  auntie  ?     How  ?  " 

"  Why,  dearie,  after  I  left  South  Africa — oh  ! 
the  hours  and  the  days  I  have  spent  in  thinking — 
thinking — thinking  of  all  that  might  have  been — 
of  the  work  that  might  have  been  accomplished — 
of  the  good  that  might  have  been  done,  if  only 
your  uncle  had  been  spared.  It  is  such  a  plausible 
temptation  to  imagine  we  only  wish  our  lives  to  be 
different  out  of  regard  to  the  glory  of  the  Master; 
but  Satan  is  tempting  us  then,  transformed  into 


72  To  the  End. 

an  angel  of  light.  He  is  seeking  to  instil  into 
our  hearts  poisoned  shafts  of  mistrust  of  our 
Heavenly  Father's  wisdom,  and  we  must  resist 
him  from  the  outset,  Ruthie,  we  must  say  like 
the  Blessed  Master,  "  Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan." 
"The  cup  which  my  Father  hath  given  Me, 
shall  I  not  drink  it  ? "  Besides,  the  reins  once 
thrown  on  the  necks  of  our  desires,  bairnie,  believe 
me  there  is  no  further  peace  for  our  souls.  We 
think  in  our  short-sightedness  the  one  thing  we 
are  longing  for  granted,  we  should  want  nothing 
more ;  but  Satan  would  soon  set  our  desires  at 
work  again.  They  must  be  restricted  by  some- 
thing, and  that  something  must  be  the  will  of  God, 
Pray,  dearie,  by  all  means  pray  for  increased 
health  and  strength — God  knows  it  is  what  I  ask 
for  you  every  day — but  o'.i !  to  our  prayers  let  us 
add  the  petition,  "  Father,  not  my  will,  but  Thine 
be  done." 

"  Oh,  auntie,  I  have  been  wrong — very  wrong," 
said  Ruth,  after  a  pause,  during  which  the  gray 
eyes  had  been  gazing  meditatively  into  the  fire. 
"  I  see  I  have  been  listening  to  the  whispers  of 
Satan — what  a  real  enemy  he  is,  and  he  knows  so 
exactly  where  to  tempt  us." 

"  Yes,  Ruthie,  and  our  danger  lies  in  parleying 
with  him  ;  resist  him,  and  he  will  flee  from  us,  for 
greater  is  He  that  is  for  us,  than  all  that  are  against 


Take  up  the  Cross.  73 

us.     Don't  you  remember  what  your  confirmation 
hymn  says  ? 

'  I  shall  not  fear  tbe  battle, 
If  Thou  art  by  my  side.' 

Trusting  to  Jesus,  holding  up  the  shield  of  faith, 
we  shall  be  able  to  quench  all  the  fiery  darts  of 
the  wicked.  Shall  I  read  to  you,  Ruthic,  some  lines 
your  uncle  wrote  when  laid  by  once  for  a  long 
time  by  the  effects  of  a  severe  attack  of  fever— - 
he  had  to  fight  the  same  battle  you  are  now 
fighting  ?" 

"  Yes,  auntie,  do." 

Fetching  from  her  desk  some  faded  sheets  of 
yellow  paper,  Mrs.  Muir  bent  forward  in  the  fire- 
light, and  read — 

"  I  stood  'mid  the  corn  one  morning, 

The  golden  ears  hung  low, 
The  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens, 
The  birds  flew  to  and  fro. 

The  reapers  they  were  not  many, 

The  fields  were  thick  with  grain  ; 
Oh  !  how  could  the  crop  be  gather' d, 

Ere  day  began  to  wane  ? 

I  plied  my  reap-hook  swiftly  ; 

I  heeded  not  the  sun  ; 
For  I  thought  of  the  Master's  smile, 

When  the  day's  work  was  done. 

I  sighed  as  I  watched  the  reapers 

Who  idled  in  the  shade, 
Busily  wreathing  wild  flowers, 

That  all  too  soon  did  fade. 


74  To  the  End. 


And  the  golden  grain  around  them 

Hung  ripe  beneath  the  sky  ; 
It  would  die  were  it  not  garner'd, 

Ere  winter  storms  drew  nigh. 

And  my  reap-hook  flew  the  swifter, 

As  I  look'd  on  the  wheat  ; 
My  sheaves — with  what  joy  I'd  lay  them 

Low  at  the  Master's  feet. 

Alas !  as  the  sun  wax'd  hotter, 

My  strength  soon  died  away  ; 
And  when  the  scorching  noon  arose, 

Faint  on  the  ground  I  lay. 

They  bore  me  to  the  shady  bank, 

Where  th'  idlers  dreaming  lay  ; 
My  sad  tears  — fast  they  fell: 

Useless  I  was  as  they. 

I  press' d  my  cheek  against  the  sward, 

The  burning  tears  fell  fast : 
My  sheaves — my  sheaves,  who'd  lay  them  now, 

The  Master's  feet  at  last  ? 

When  lo  !  I  felt  myself  enclos'd 

In  arms  of  tender  grace  ; 
And  loving  hands  did  wipe  the  tears 

From  off  my  fever'd  face. 

And  then  I  heard  a  gentle  voice, 

Asking  in  accents  mild, 
In  tones  as  soft  as  passing  breeze, 

Why  weepest  thou,  My  child  ? 

My  dew-dimm'd  eyes  I  lifted  then 

To  the  dear  Master's  face, 
And  told  of  sheaves  I'd  fain  have  bound, 

His  harvest-home  to  grace. 

Again  my  tears  were  gently  dried, 

Again  those  tones  so  sweet — 
'  Child  of  my  love,  there  is  a  sheaf 

Thou  canst  lay  at  My  feet. 


.  Take  lip  tlie  Cross.  75 

'  It  is  the  sheaf  of  thy  self-will, 

More  precious  in  My  sight 
Than  all  the  toil  of  busy  years, 

Or  golden  off'ring  bright. 

'  Fret  not  thyself  about  the  grain, 

The  golden  ears  are  Mine, 
And  other  hands  will  bind  the  sheaves 

Thou  didst  for  me  design. 

'  And  thou  canst  for  the  reapers  raise 

Thy  voice  in  earnest  pray'r  ; 
And  thus  can  help  them  in  their  toil, 

And  in  their  harvest  share.' 

So  now  in  calm  content  I  lie, 

Hushing  each  fear  to  rest : 
T  obey  is  more  than  sacrifice, 

The  Master's  will  is  best." 

That  was  the  first  time  that  Mrs.  Muir  had  ever 
heard  Ruth  allude  with  anything  like  murmuring 
to  her  ill-health,  and  it  was  the  last. 

Heavily  though  no  doubt  her  cross  of  helpless- 
ness pressed  in  the  future,  she  never  spoke  of  it, 
save  to  One — He  who  gave  her  grace  patiently  to 
take  up  and  to  carry  it. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

A   LUNCHEON   PARTY. 

S  Edith  sat  looking  at  the  few  budding 
limes  that  adorned  the  narrow  strip  of 
garden  in  front  of  Adelbert  Terrace, 
she  could  hardly  realize  that  nearly  a 
year  had  passed  since  last  she  had  seen  the  Knoll. 
In  one  sense  it  seemed  a  very  long  year  ;  in  another 
the  months  seem  to  have  rolled  by  .at  a  gallop ; 
for  though,  through  constantly  thinking  of  the 
St.  Magna's  days,  the  old  home-life  seemed  quite 
near,  still  the  London  life  had  been  such  a  busy 
one,  and  so  much  had  taken  place  in  the  interven- 
ing days,  that  looking  back  through  the  vista  of 
work  and  events,  that  summer's  morning  seemed 
quite  distant  when  mournfully  she  had  listened  to 
the  shriek  of  the  train  that  carried  her  away  from 
the  scenes  of  her  childhood. 

Changes  had  taken  place,  too,  in  the  quiet  little 
village  of  Wych.  The  pulse  of  still  country  life 
had  been  excited  by  a  wedding — the  wedding  of 
Violet  Norman  with  Lionel  Richards. 

Mr.  Norman  had  used  every  means  in  his  power 


A  Luncheon  Party.  77 

to  resist  this  wedding,  for  the  short  time  that 
Lionel  had  passed  as  a  pupil  at  St.  Magna's  had 
not  prepossessed  him  in  favour  of  his  future  son-in- 
law.  Persuasion  was  in  vain  though,  Violet  had 
made  up  her  mind;  so  to  avoid  further  "scenes" 
Mr.  Norman  gave  an  unwilling  consent,  and  the 
wedding  had  taken  place  some  three  months 
previously. 

The  news  of  the  engagement  had  been  conveyed 
to  the  Wilmots  by  Harry,  who  was  spending  part 
of  his  Christmas  vacation  with  the  Newtons,  and 
in  a  postscript  he  begged  that  his  knapsack  might 
be  forwarded  to  him,  as  he  intended  to  spend  the 
rest  of  his  holidays  in  Scotland.  A  month  later 
he  returned  to  Adelbcrt  Terrace  looking  some 
three  years  older  than  when  he  started,  and  when 
his  name  came  out  among  the  first  in  the  examina- 
tion list,  he  confided  to  his  mother  the  impossi- 
bility of  his  (at  present)  settling  at  St.  Magna's, 
and  May  saw  him  starting  as  a  doctor  on  board  an 
Australian  steamer.  The  house  seemed  very  dull 
without  Harry's  merry  laugh  to  brighten  it ;  and 
banish  the  thought  as  she  would,  Edith  could  never 
meet  Violet  without  the  remembrance  of  her  brother 
flashing  across  her — tossing  on  the  wide  blue  sea. 

The  Richards  had  taken  a  house  at  South 
Kensington,  for  Lionel's  purse  was  a  comfortably 
lined  one,  though  it  was  not  as  heavy  as  it  would 


78  To  the  End. 

ultimately  become,  for  he  was  heir  to  his  aunt's 
estate  at  Great  St.  Magna's. 

Joan's  friendship  with  Violet  had  been  renewed 
with  greater  vigour  than  ever,  and  Edith  saw  but 
little  of  her  sister  now  that  this  loophole  into  a 
new  life  had  been  opened  up  to  her.  It  was  no 
wonder,  though,  thought  Edith,  that  Joan  wished 
her  horizon  to  be  extended  ;  she  was  so  young  and 
bright,  and  shone  so  prettily  in  society,  while  she 
— «he  was  only  an  old  tame  tabby,  never  happier 
than  when  purring  at  her  own  fireside. 

How  pretty  Joan  looked  now,  to  be  sure,  as 
dashing  round  the  corner  in  Violet  Richards'  smart 
Victoria  she  waved  her  hand  merrily  to  her  sister. 
Why  had  she  come  home  so  soon  ?  In  an  instant 
the  problem  was  solved. 

"  Edith,  you  are  to  come  back  with  me  at  once. 
Violet  says  you  nmst  come — she  has  a  spare  ticket 
for  the  concert  this  afternoon ;  Lionel  says  he 
won't  go." 

"  Joan,  how  can  I  ?     I  have  no  dress  to  go  in." 

"Oh,  yes — put  on  your  black  silk — I  will  lend 
you  my  lace  fichu  to  tie  over  it ;  but  make  haste, 
for  the  carriage  is  waiting,  and  the  lunch  is  punc- 
tually at  one  o'clock." 

"  But  mother—" 

"  But  mothe* — well,  here  is  mother  to  answer  for 
herself.  Mother  dear,  Violet  wants  Edith  to  go 


A  Luncheon  Party.  79 

with  us  to  the  concert  this  afternoon — you  can 
spare  her,  can't  you  ? " 

It  is  needless  to  repeat  Mrs.  Wilmot's  answer. 
Not  only  could  she  spare  Edith,  but  she  was  most 
anxious  she  should  not  forego  such  an  unwonted 
pleasure,  so  a  quarter  of  an  hour  saw  the  two  girls 
rolling  away  to  South  Kensington. 

Seated  at  the  head  of  her  well-appointed  table, 
in  the  most  becoming  of  costumes,  Violet  made 
the  prettiest  of  hostesses ;  thoroughly  in  her 
element,  her  face  sparkled  with  sunshine,  and  her 
laugh  was  low  and  rippling. 

Ah,  how  easy  it  is  to  wreath  our  faces  with 
smiles  when  the  blue  sky  is  above  and  around  us ! 
How  lovingly  does  our  human  nature  stretch  itself 
in  the  sunshine  of  worldly  prosperity !  Yet  the 
Prophet  Habakkuk  said,  "  Although  the  fig  tree 
shall  not  blossom,  neither  shall  fruit  be  in  the 
vines  ;  the  labour  of  the  olive  shall  fail,  and  the 
fields  shall  yield  no  meat ;  the  flock  shall  be  cut 
off  from  the  fold,  and  there  shall  be  no  herd  in  the 
stalls :  yet  I  will  rejoice  in  the  Lord,  I  will  joy  in 
the  God  of  my  salvation"  He  had  set  his  affections 
on  things  above,  not  on  things  beloiv.  His  treasure 
was  "  where  rust  and  moth  doth  not  corrupt ; 
where  thieves  do  not  break  through  and  steal." 

"  Edith,  luncheon  is  not  the  time  for  a  brown- 
study.  Mr.  Rollo  has  twice  offered  you  strawberries." 

Edith   turned    and  apologized  smilingly  to  her 


8o  To  the  End. 

next-door  neighbour,  a  tall,  broad-shouldered 
man,  with  streaks  of  gray  here  and  there  amid  his 
chestnut  hair. 

"  To  think  of  Edith's  turning  a  deaf  ear  to  straw- 
berries ! "  said  Joan  ;  "  why  the  other  day  she  told 
me  it  made  her  heart  lighter  even  to  hear  them 
called  about  the  streets  !  " 

"Violet,  I  must  defend  my  character.  I  cannot 
let  you  think  I  have  become  so  degenerate  as  to 
base  my  happiness  on  strawberries.  Joan  knows 
it  was  not  the  love  of  the  fruit  that  stirred  my 
heart,  it  was  the  breath  they  brought  with  them  of 
the  country." 

"  Mr.  Rollo,  would  you  believe  it  ? "  said  Violet, 
as  lifting  her  daintily  embroidered  handkerchief  to 
her  lips  she  tried  to  stifle  her  laughter.  "  Miss 
Wilmot's  idea  of  happiness  is  the  life  of  a  dairy- 
maid's clattering  about  in  pattens  and  making 
cheese  and  butter." 

"  Not  a  bad  life  either ;  and  decidedly  a  more 
healthy  one  than  that  of  many  of  the  young  ladies 
who  are  rolling  along  in  the  Park  yonder.  They 
droop  like  flowers  in  heated  assemblies,  while  the 
dairymaid  threads  the  fields  as  fresh  as  the  daisies, 
and  they  retire  to  rest  when  she  is  brushing  the 
dew  from  the  clover;  but  joking  apart,  Miss  Wil- 
mot,  have  you  really  spent  nearly  a  year  in  London 
without  its  charms  having  effaced  the  country  from 
your  affections  ? " 


A  Luncheon  Party.  81 

"  My  home  was  in  the  country  for  twenty  years," 
said  Edith,  and  as   her  blue  eyes  sought  to  hide 
themselves  Mr.  Rollo  saw  they  were  dim  with  tears. 
***** 

"  Mother,  congratulate  mz  ;  I  have  met  a  little 
maiden  to-day  who  has  not  yet  been  schooled  by 
the  world  into  the  lesson  that  it  is  not  etiquette  to 
have  a  heart,"  was  Mr.  Rollo's  salutation  to  his 
mother  that  night. 

"  Archie,  don't  pretend  to  be  a  cynic.  I  can  quite 
understand  that  you  don't  meet  every  day  with 
hearts  as  warm  and  genuine  as  your  own,  but  you 
know  that  many  true  ones  do  beat  even  under  the 
well-cut  garments  of  society." 

Mrs.  Rollo,  in  her  velvet-lined  chair,  and  with  her 
ermine  cloak  around  her,  was  the  very  picture  of 
an  old  lady,  and  it  was  easy  to  see  at  a  glance  that 
before  the  chestnut  hair  had  silvered  and  the  deli- 
cate peach-bloom  had  faded  she  must  have  been 
remarkable  for  her  beauty. 

Tenderly  cherished  by  a  devoted  husband,  and 
now  the  object  of  a  loving  son's  care,  Mrs.  Rollo's 
life  had  been  a  peaceful  and  a  sheltered  one  ;  of  a 
soft  and  yielding  disposition,  and  with  few  angles  to 
rub  up  against,  she  was  the  centre  of  a  large  circle 
of  friends,  and  the  red-tiled  Elizabethan  house  at 
Chelsea  was  the  scene  of  many  a  social  gathering. 

An  enthusiastic  lover  of  the  fine  arts,  Archibald 

F 


82  To  the  End. 

Rollo  dabbled  in  all  of  them,  and  was  a  proficient 
in  none,  though  it  was  in  the  studio  or  music-room 
of  "  the  Red  House "  that  he  was  most  generally 
to  be  found. 

Neither  of  these  rooms  though  did  he  frequent 
to-night,  but  sipped  his  coffee  meditatively  by  his 
mother's  side. 

"  Archie,  what  are  you  thinking  about  ?  " 

"The  little  maiden  with  the  heart.  I  wish  I 
could  get  her  to  sit  to  me  for  a  picture." 

"  Was  she  so  very  pretty  then  ?  " 

"  Pretty  ?  No,  I  don't  think  that  is  the  word  to 
apply  to  her.  Mrs.  Richards  and  her  sister  are, 
strictly  speaking,  I  suppose,  prettier  than  she  is ; 
but  her  face  was  so  peaceful  and  pure  it  seemed  to 
calm  you  to  look  at  her.  If  I  were  to  take  her 
portrait  now,  I  should  paint  her  kneeling  in  some 
old  cathedral,  with  hands  clasped  in  prayer — that 
is  the  scene  her  face  irresistibly  brings  before  you. 
Mother,  you  must  cultivate  her,  if  it  is  only  for  the 
sake  of  the  picture." 

"  Archie,  I  am  at  your  service ;  but  remember 
maidens  with  hearts  are  not  toys  to  be  trifled  with. 
Suppose  she  loses  hers  with  you,  are  you  prepared 
to  give  her  yours  in  exchange  ? " 

"  Mother,  with  your  leave  I  will  think  out  that 
question  with  my  cigar  on  the  verandah." 


CHAPTER   XIV. 


TEMPTATION. 

HE  snow  was  still  lying  on  the  ground, 
and  cold  March  winds  were  blowing 
over  the  heads  of  the  drooping  snow- 
drops, when  another  little  flower  opened 
its  eyes  on  the  wintry  earth — a  baby-boy  came  to 
gladden  the  heart  of  Violet  Richards. 

It  was  a  pretty  sight  to  see  the  young  mother  and 
her  child  together ;  never  had  there  been  such  a 
baby  before — of  that  she  was  confident. 

The  christening  took  place  at  St.  Magna's,  and 
when  some  three  weeks  later  Edith  entered  the 
nursery  at  South  Kensington,  she  was  surprised  to 
see  there  sitting  a  well-known  girlish  figure. 

"  Rose,  you  here !     I  am  astonished.     Did  Mrs. 
Richards  bring  you  back  with  her  ? " 
"  Yes,  miss.     Didn't  mistress  tell  you  ?  " 
"  I  haven't  seen  Mrs.  Richards.     Pollok  tells  me 
she  is  out  driving.     I  thought  I  would  just  run  up 

F  2 


84  To  the  End. 

though  and  have  a  peep  at  the  baby.  The  darling  ! 
how  he  has  grown  !  And  oh,  Rose,  now  his  eyes  are 
wide  open,  do  let  me  have  a  good  look  at  them. 
Oh,  baby,  your  eyes  are  going  to  be  brown  ;  you 
perverse  little  fellow,  mother  did  so  want  them  to 
be  blue,  but  I  was  afraid  they  would  grow  darker. 
Well,  brown  eyes  or  not,  you  are  a  sweet  baby-boy — 
isn't  he,  Rose  ?  And  I  am  sure  grandpapa  thought 
so,"  and  kissing  the  mottled  face  fondly,  Edith  laid 
the  baby  in  his  bassinette.  "  Well,  Rose,  it  is  nice 
to  see  a  face  from  St.  Magna's  ;  and  how  is  the  dear 
old  place,  and  everybody  in  it  ? " 

"  Oh,  much  the  same  as  usual,  miss  ;  nothing 
ever  happens  at  St.- Magna's." 

"  And  your  father  and  mother  ?  I  hope  they  are 
quite  well." 

"  Father's  as  hearty  as  ever,  thank  you,  miss  ;  but 
mother,  you  know,  she's  always  ailing,  and  she 
fretted  a  deal  about  my  leaving." 

"  I  dare  say,  but  I  thought  that  it  was  your 
father  that  objected  most  to  your  coming  to 
London." 

"  So  he  did,"  and  Rose  hung  her  head  and  busied 
herself  in  tucking  baby  into  the  bassinette,  as  the 
recollection  of  the  conversation  with  Edith  at  the 
wicket-gate  flashed  across  her ;  "  but  father,  he 
knows  as  ever  since  I've  been  a  little  girl,  when  I 
sets  my  heart  on  a  thing  I  always  gets  it  in  the 


It  was  a  pretty  sight  to  see  the  young  mother  and  her  child  together  ;  never  had 
there  been  such  a  baby  before — of  that  she  was  confident.—/*.  83. 


,  Temptation.  87 

long  run,"  and  the  pretty  girl  looked  up  with  a 
wilful  smile  ;  "  so  you  see,  miss,  he  thought  it  best 
to  give  in,  I  expect,  when  I  got  a  chance  of  com- 
ing along  with  Miss  Violet  (Mrs.  Richards,  I 
mean)." 

Edith  sighed,  but  said  nothing. 

"  And  lor,  miss,  what  a  grand  place  London  is  !  " 
continued  Rose.  "Mistress  took  baby  and  me 
in  the  carriage  in  the  Park  yesterday,  and  the  sight 
of  carriages  well-nigh  turned  my  head,  and  the 
beautifully  dressed  ladies — " 

"  Yes,  Rose,  but  all  is  not  gold  that  glitters,  and 
the  Park  is  not  the  whole  of  London,  nor  the  rich 
people  that  roll  along  its  only  inhabitants  (though 
to  hear  some  people  talk  you  would  think  they 
were).  There  are  dens  and  alleys  in  the  East 
End  hardly  fit  for  human  habitation,  where  Mr. 
Lawrence  Newton  told  me  poor  women  slave  with 
their  needle  for  three-farthings  an  hour ! " 

"  To  think  of  that,  miss !  —  and  fancy  Mr. 
Lawrence  choosing  to  live  among  them  !  " 

"  The  Lord  Jesus  chose  to  leave  Heaven  and  live 
on  earth  for  our  sakes,"  said  Edith,  in  a  low  voice, 
as  she  caressed  gently  one  of  the  tiny  pink  and 
white  hands  that  lay  outstretched  from  the  bassi- 
nette. "  But,  Rose,  I  must  be  going  now  ;  you  must 
ask  your  mistress  to  spare  you  to  come  over  and 
spend  an  afternoon  with  us  some  day.  Sarah  and 


88  To  the  End. 

Susan  will  be  delighted  to  see  a  face  from  St. 
Magna's." 

The  invitation  thus  given  was  at  first  accepted 
with  cordiality  ;  whenever  Rose  had  a  holiday  she 
always  found  her  way  to  Adelbert  Terrace,  and 
Mrs.  Wilmot  and  Edith,  glad  of  these  opportunities 
of  befriending  the  young  girl,  made  her  most  heartily 
welcome. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  months  though,  these 
visits  became  fewer  and  fewer,  and  towards  Christ- 
mas they  ceased  altogether. 

"  Violet,  does  Rose  have  less  leave  than  usual  ?  " 
asked  Edith,  one  wintry  afternoon,  "  for  she  never 
comes  to  Adelbert  Terrace  now." 

"No;  she  has  just  the  same  as  when  she  first 
came — one  afternoon  in  the  fortnight ;  but  oh,  I 
dare  say  she  is  tired  of  Susan  and  Sarah's  company, 
and  likes  spending  her  holiday  in  some  more  ex- 
citing way  than  sipping  tea  with  maids  in  a  kitchen. 
A  pretty  girl  like  that  is  sure  to  have  followers," 
and  Violet  gave  a  meaning  smile. 

"  I  hope  they  are  desirable  ones  then,"  said 
Edith;  "a  young  girl  in  that  position  away  from 
her  parents  always  seems  to  me  so  unguarded." 

Violet  leant  back  in  her  chair  laughing  merrily. 
"  Really,  Edith,  with  a  large  pair  of  spectacles  and 
a  large  mob-cap,  you  might  pass  for  a  grand- 
mother. Don't  think  it  necessary  though  to  apos- 


Temptation.  89 

trophize  me  on  my  duties  as  a  mistress,  for  no  one 
will  ever  induce  me  to  pry  into  a  servant's  private 
affairs.  If  they  are  old  enough  to  leave  their 
parents,  I  consider  they  are  old  enough  to  take 
care  of  themselves.  Why,  I  was  younger  than 
Rose  when  I  married,"  and  Violet  bridled  her  neck 
with  dignity. 

"  Violet,  dear,  you  are  only  joking ;  you  know  I 
would  not  take  such  an  unwarrantable  liberty  as  to 
attempt  to  interfere  in  the  management  of  your 
household  ;  but  coming  as  Rose  does,  from  St. 
Magna's,  you  can  understand  what  a  special 
interest  we  take  in  her,  and  then  we  were  all 
confirmed  together." 

"  So  we  were,  I  had  forgotten  it ;  but  we  have 
talked  enough  about  Rose.  Edith,  I  want  you 
and  Joan  to  come  and  lunch  with  Mrs.  Rollo 
to-morrow." 

With  a  woman's  quick  perception,  Violet  had 
noted  the  special  interest  Mr.  Rollo  took  in  her 
friends,  and  this  interest  she  resolved  to  fan  into  a 
more  ardent  feeling,  for  it  would  be  pleasant  to 
have  Joan  settled  near  her  (and  Joan  it  was  of 
course  who  had  kindled  the  interest),  and  then  to 
herself  would  accrue  a  certain  amount  of  credit  in 
having  so  well  established  her  friend. 

At  Violet's  house,  therefore,  Mr.  Rollo  was  con- 
stantly meeting  Joan,  but,  alas !  to  his  chagrin, 


go  To  tJie  End. 

seldom  accompanied  by  Edith,  for  the  heat  and 
close  confinement  of  town  life  were  beginning  to 
tell  sadly  upon  Mrs.  Wilmot,  and  Edith  was  more 
than  ever  tied  to  Adelbert  Terrace  now  that  her 
mother's  headaches  were  bidding  fair  to  become 
chronic. 

Repeated  persuasion  at  last  induced  Mrs.  Wilmot 
to  accept  an  invitation  from  the  Miss  Scotts,  and 
it  was  with  a  thankful  heart  Edith  saw  her  mother 
start  for  St.  Magna's,  accompanied  by  little  Mary. 
The  days  that  followed  would  have  been  lonely 
ones  to  Edith,  had  it  not  been  for  the  children,  for 
Joan  and  Cuthbert  were  little  at  home ;  in  fact 
Cuthbert's  "engagements"  were  so  numerous  that 
they  began  to  give  Edith  some  cause  for  anxiety ; 
but  he  refused  to  give  any  account  of  himself,  and 
steadily  resented  what  he  called  "all  girls'  meddling 
with  his  private  affairs." 

How  Edith  longed  at  this  time  for  Mr.  Newton's 
wise  counsel,  and  how  sorely  she  missed  the  helpful 
services  at  St.  Magna's ! — earth  and  its  cares  and 
worries  seemed  to  have  such  a  hold  upon  her. 
Heaven  appeared  so  dim,  so  far  away. 

Yes  ;  a  film  had  crept  over  Edith's  spiritual  life, 
and  she  was  conscious  of  it.  No  longer  could  she 
take  her  burdens  in  trustful  faith  to  the  feet  of  the 
Master,  and  leave  them  there.  No  longer  could 
she  realize  with  happy  assurance  that  "All  things 


Temptation.  91 

work  together  for  good  to  them  that  love  God." 
No  doubt  this  was  partly  owing  to  physical  causes, 
for  jaded,  exhausted  nerves  tell  on  mind  as  well  as 
body  (and  Edith  had  fallen  into  a  wearied  state  as 
well  as  her  mother) ;  but  principally  it  was  due  to 
the  murmuring,  unbelieving  thoughts  which  Edith 
knew  she  had  given  place  to.  How  often  she  had 
envied  Violet  her  large  house  and  comparative 
leisure  !  How  many  times  she  had  listened  to  the 
devil's  suggestion  that  people  who  make  only  a 
profession  of  religion  seem  to  get  along  just  as 
well  or  better  than  people  who  are  at  the  pains  to 
act  out  what  they  believe. 

What  was  the  good  of  getting  into  hot  water 
with  Joan  for  urging  her  to  some  neglected  duty  ? 
or  for  falling  into  disgrace  with  Cuthbert  for  trying 
to  counsel  him  lovingly.  Why  swim  further  against 
the  tide  ?  It  was  hard  work,  and  you  made  but  little 
progress.  Do  as  others  do,  or  at  all  events  for  a 
time  fold  your  arms  and  float  at  leisure. 

These  were  the  evil  suggestions  of  the  Tempter, 
and  Edith  had  not  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  them. 
She  did  not  realize  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as 
inaction  in  the  spiritual  life  ;  that  floating  with  the 
tide  means  progress — onward  progress  to  the  dark 
rapids  of  danger  and  death. 


CHAPTER   XV. 


CONQUEST. 

UST  at  this  time,  when  Edith's  better 
judgment  was  warped  by  her  loose 
hold  of  Him  Who  giveth  to  all  men 
wisdom  liberally,  and  upbraideth  not, 
there  came  a  letter  to  her — a  letter  from  Mr.  Rollo. 
At  first  its  contents  completely  startled  Edith, 
for  she  (like  Violet)  had  always  imagined  that  if 
Mr.  Rollo  admired  any  one,  it  was  Joan,  and  it 
was  some  time  before  she  could  realize  that  the 
passionate  words  of  devotion  she  had  just  read 
were  addressed  to  herself. 

Astonishment  in  time,  though,  became  only 
pleased  surprise,  and  eagerly  she  began  to  question 
herself.  Why  did  she  first  feel  sorry  that  Mr. 
Rollo  had  written  such  a  letter  ?  Why  did  she 
jump  to  the  conclusion  that  "no"  was  the  only 
answer  to  be  given  ?  Mr.  Rollo  was  a  gentleman; 
a  kind  man  and  a  cultivated  ;  he  could  offer  her  a 


Conquest.  93 

comfortable  home  ;  he  was  a  good  son,  and  filled  a 
certain  position  in  society.  It  was  true  she  would 
have  to  leave  her  mother,  but  Mary  was  growing 
up  to  be  a  nice  little  companion  to  her  now,  and 
as  a  married  sister  she  would  have  much  more 
influence  and  weight  with  Joan  and  Cuthbcrt. 
Ah,  Edith,  Edith,  why  do  you  try  to  settle  this 
question  without  bending  on  your  knees  to  ask 
direction  from  above  ?  Why  not  consider  what 
your  mother,  your  father,  would  have  advised  ? 
Why  not  listen  to  the  promptings  of  your  own 
better  nature  ?  Two  questions  had  all  day  long 
been  ringing  in  Edith's  ears,  but  she  refused  to 
answer  them.  "  Do  I  love  this  man  ?  "  "  Is  he  a 
Christian  ?  " 

In  the  stillness  of  the  night,  though,  the  still 
small  voice  of  conscience  sometimes  makes  itself 
heard,  and  matters  which  we  thrust  from  us  in  the 
light  come  face  to  face  with  us  in  the  darkness. 

Lying  restless  on  her  pillow,  these  two  questions 
seemed  to  thunder  themselves  in  Edith's  ears,  and 
unable  to  forget  them  in  sleep,  she  rose  and  drew 
a  chair  to  the  window. 

"  Did  she  love  Mr.  Rollo  ? "  No  ;  she  couldn't 
say  she  did,  but  she  liked  him,  and  liking  surely  in 
time  would  soon  change  itself  into  love.  "  Was  he 
a  Christian  ?  "  Ah  !  this  was  a  harder  question  to 
answer.  She  had  never  heard  him  allude  to  religion 


94  To  the  End. 

save  once  in  her  presence,  and  then  certainly  it  was 
in  rather  a  bantering  tone ;  but  he  went  to  church 
every  Sunday  morning,  carrying  his  mother's  velvet 
Prayer-book  for  her.  Then  does  not  the  Bible  say, 
"Judge  not,  that  ye  be  not  judged  ?"  Ah  !  but  it 
also  adds,  "Be  ye  not  unequally  yoked  together 
with  unbelievers."  "She  is  at  liberty  to  be  married 
to  whom  she  will ;  only  in  the  Lord." 

Tired  with  her  restless  night,  Edith  was  only 
awakened  by  the  breakfast-bell,  and  though  her 
toilet  was  a  hasty  one,  she  only  arrived  down-stairs 
in  time  to  hear  the  clang  of  the  front-door  as  it 
closed  on  Cuthbert.  She  was  sorry,  for  his  break- 
fast had  been  a  solitary  one,  Joan  having  dined 
and  spent  the  night  with  the  Richards. 

Mr.  Rollo  had  begged  Edith  to  take  twenty-four 
hours  to  consider  her  decision,  for  he  felt  sure  the 
contents  of  his  letter  would  surprise  her  ;  but  feel- 
ing convinced  that  if  "  no "  had  to  be  said,  the 
sooner  it  was  done  the  better,  Edith  put  on  her 
hat  and  started  for  a  walk,  resolved  to  decide 
the  matter.  One  minute  she  was  assailed  with 
weary  doubt ;  another  tempted  with  pleasurable 
visions  of  the  future.  How  pleasant  it  would  be 
to  turn  her  back  on  care  and  worry,  and  to  have 
some  one  to  care  for  and  guard  her !  Edith's 
mind  was  a  battlefield  of  conflicting  emotions, 
and  unable  to  decide  the  contest,  she  wearily 


Conquest.  95 

pushed  back  her  hat  from  her  throbbing  temples, 
and  longed  for  fresh  air  both  mentally  and  bodily. 
Just  at  this  minute  she  came  upon  a  church  hidden 
among  the  houses ;  its  doorway  was  crowded,  and 
people  were  passing  into  it. 

Was  it  a  wedding  or  a  confirmation  ?  A  con- 
firmation ;  and  as  Edith  gazed  at  the  young  girls 
in  white  her  thoughts  were  carried  away  to  St. 
Magna's,  to  the  parish  church,  and  the  bright  day 
in  which  she  had  stood  and  vowed  to  serve  her 
God  in  it.  How  she  would  like  to  hear  this  con- 
firmation address  !  She  wondered  if  she  could  gain 
admittance ;  yes,  strangers  were  allowed  in  the 
gallery,  and  in  two  minutes  Edith  was  seated  in  it. 

Ah,  ye  servants  of  God,  when  rising  to  the  re- 
sponsibilities of  your  sacred  calling,  ye  resist  the 
blandishments  of  the  world  and  self,  and  speak 
only  what  God  the  Holy  Spirit  hath  taught  you, 
what  a  mighty  influence  ye  wield  over  your  hearers  ! 
Your  message  becomes  a  supernatural  one,  a  lever 
to  lift  burdened  souls  from  the  depth  and  darkness 
of  temptation — a  glass  in  which  they  view  not  the 
things  which  are  seen  and  temporal,  but  the  things 
which  are  unseen  and  eternal — a  power — a  power 
which  is  mighty,  through  God,  to  the  pulling  down 
of  strongholds,  and  which  bringeth  into  subjection 
every  thought  to  the  obedience  of  Christ. 

The  day  was  a  dull  one,  and  in  the  subdued  light 


96  To  the  End. 

that  streamed  through  painted  windows  but  few 
noticed  the  young  girl  in  a  back  seat  of  the  gallery, 
who  with  flushed  cheeks  and  parted  lips  leant 
forward  so  eagerly  to  listen  ;  but  One  above  did — • 
One  whose  heart  of  love  was  yearning  over  her — 
One  Who  knew  all  the  circumstances  of  her  life — 
all  the  trial,  the  temptation  of  the  present  hour — 
One  Who  Himself  had  suffered,  being  tempted, 
and  Who  is  able  to  succour  them  that  are  tempted. 
"  I  beseech  you,  therefore,  that  ye  receive  not  the 
grace  of  God  in  vain,"  was  the  theme  of  the  Bishop's 
address,  and  as  Edith  listened,  life  and  the  things 
of  this  life  seemed  to  lose  their  hold  upon  her  ; 
the  film  that  hid  Heaven  from  earth  to  roll  up 
and  fade  away.  What  a  speck  of  time  this  life 
looked  when  viewed  beside  the  life  that  lasts  for 
ever  and  ever  ! — how  insignificant  seemed  its  events, 
save  as  they  influenced  for  eternity  ! 

As  if  revealed  by  a  flash  of  light  from  Heaven, 
Edith  saw  the  danger  in  which  she  stood,  the  pre- 
cipice to  which  Satan  blindfold  had  led  her.  She 
knew  by  past  experience  how  weak  her  heart  was ; 
how  easily  she  was  influenced  by  those  around 
her ;  how  difficult  it  was  to  realize  that  one  thing 
was  needful.  How  then  could  she  ever  have  thought 
of  placing  her  hand  for  the  journey  of  life  in  the 
hand  of  any  but  a  Christian  ? — one  who  humbly,  yet 
fearlessly,  had  taken  his  stand  on  the  side  of  the 


Conquest.  97 

Master — who  would  bz  a  help  and  not  a  hindrance 
to  her  on  her  journey  heavenwards. 

Yes,  Edith  was  indeed  thankful  that  she  had 
been  guided  to  hear  the  words  that  had  been 
spoken  that  morning  ;  earnestly  did  she  kneel  and 
beseech  help  both  for  herself  and  the  young  soldiers 
who  were  starting  forth  to  do  battle  under  the 
same  flag  as  herself  that  day,  and  tremulously  did 
she  plead  rather  than  sing  the  words — 

"O  let  me  feel  Thee  near  me  : 

The  world  is  ever  near  ; 
I  see  the  sights  that  dazzle, 
The  tempting  sounds  I  hear ; 

My  foes  are  ever  near  me, 

Around  me  and  within  ; 
But,  Jesus,  draw  Thou  nearer, 

And  shield  my  soul  from  sin." 


G 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

MARRIAGE    BELLS. 

OOD    evening,    Miss    Scott.      What    a 
wild  night  for  you  to  be  out  in  ! " 

It  was  Frank  Newton  who  spoke, 
and  as  he  attempted  to  raise  his  hat, 
the  wind  took  possession  of  his  umbrella,  and 
nearly  carried  it  into  an  adjoining  field. 

"The  elements  are  not  inclined  to  be  civil  to- 
night— are  they  ? — but  I  heard  such  a  bad  account 
of  Mrs.  Wicks,  I  determined  to  go  and  see  her  ; 
she  is  fretting  so  dreadfully  about  her  daughter 
Rose." 

"  Rose  ! — let  me  see  ;  that  was  the  pretty  girl  with 
the  high  colour  that  used  to  come  to  mother's 
bible  class,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Well,  Violet  Richards  took  her  to  be  nurse 
to  poor  little  Lion,  you  know,  and  when  he  caught 
that  fatal  chill  she  was  dismissed  at  once.  Violet 
seemed  to  think  she  was  in  some  way  to  blame 


Marriage  Bells.  99 


for  the  poor  little  fellow  catching  cold,  and  Rose 
not  liking  to  return  to  St.  Magna's  with  a  slur  upon 
her  character,  accepted  at  once  a  situation  as  maid 
to  a  family  who  were  starting  to  travel  on  the 
continent,  and  her  parents  have  only  heard  from 
her  once  since." 

"  Dear,  dear,  that  is  a  sad  state  of  things  ;  and 
Rose  was  an  only  child,  wasn't  she  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  her  parents'  idol — though  they  showed 
their  affection  in  a  funny  way  sometimes;  but  for 
their  pretty  girl  to  be  travelling  about  with  strangers 
in  '  foreign  parts  '  is  almost  more  than  their  hearts 
can  bear." 

"  I  wonder  they  let  her  leave  St.  Magna's  at  all." 

"Well,  her  father  did  stand  out  against  it  for  a 
long  time  ;  but  the  girl's  heart  was  set  upon  a 
change,  and  when  this  opportunity  opened  up  to 
her  of  going  to  London  as  nurse  to  little  Lion, 
I  suppose  her  parents  thought  it  was  better  for 
her  to  be  with  Violet  than  with  strangers." 

"  How  could  Violet  then  dismiss  her  so  sum- 
marily ?  But  I  suppose,  poor  thing,  she  was  dis- 
tracted with  grief." 

"  Distracted !  Miss  Norman  told  me  that  when 
she  and  her  brother  arrived  in  London  that  sad 
night  they  were  telegraphed  for,  they  found  Violet 
almost  in  a  frenzy,  beseeching  the  doctor  to  save 
her  child,  and  when  their  worst  fears  were  realized, 

G  2 


ioo  To  the  End. 

her  grief  seemed  to  find  no  natural  outlet ;  but  up 
and  down  the  room  she  would  pace,  torturing  her- 
self almost  to  madness  over  second  causes — How 
had  her  darling  got  cold  ?  Where  could  he  have 
taken  such  a  dreadful  chill  ?  And  when  she  found 
out  accidentally  that  Rose  had  been  seen  one  chilly 
day  in  the  Park,  with  little  Lion  in  the  perambu- 
lator, standing  still  talking  to  a  friend,  to  the 
nursery  she  flew  at  once,  and  in  a  few  frenzied 
words  Rose  was  dismissed  from  the  house." 

"  And  do  you  think  the  poor  girl  was  really  to 
blame  ?  " 

"  Well,  Miss  Norman  says  if  any  blame  does 
attach  to  her,  it  was  not  from  want  of  heart,  but 
from  want  of  head.  Rose  was  devoted  to  her  little 
charge ;  but  she  was  never  thoughtful  and  careful 
enough  to  make  a  good  nursemaid." 

"  Where  are  the  Richards  now  ?  " 

"Still  travelling  on  the  continent.  Joan  Wilmot 
is  with  them,  and  we  hope  to  beguile  Edith  down 
here  some  time  before  Christmas." 

"  That  will  be  jolly ;  the  place  does  not  seem 
like  itself  since  the  Wilmots  left." 

Frank  Newton  was  not  the  only  one  who  held 
that  opinion,  and  many  a  face  brightened  and 
many  a  heart  cheered  when  Edith  Wilmot  was 
once  more  to  be  met  walking  about  St.  Magna's. 
As  for  Edith,  she  could  hardly  realize  that  nearly 


Marriage  Bells.  101 


four  years  had  crept  away  since  last  she  had  re- 
visited the  old  scenes  ;  and  every  green  lane 
seemed  to  revive  some  memory  of  the  past,  every 
grassy  nook  to  whisper  a  message  to  her.  How 
delightful  it  was  too,  to  stand  once  more  in  the 
dear  old  parish  church — to  listen  again  to  Mr. 
Newton's  well-known  voice — to  his  loving  words  of 
counsel !  Lawrence  was  at  home  now  enjoying  a 
well-earned  holiday.  His  health  had  broken  down 
soon  after  the  Wilmots  had  settled  in  London, 
and  he  had  been  compelled  to  seek  a  curacy  in  the 
country ;  but  with  restored  health  and  vigour,  he 
was  now  looking  forward  to  returning  as  vicar  to 
the  East  End  London  parish  where  formerly  he 
had  laboured  as  curate. 

Surrounded  by  so  many  kind  friends,  Edith's 
visit  flew  past  only  too  swiftly,  and  though  Mrs. 
Newton  and  Mrs.  Muir  would  fain  have  taken 
possession  of  her,  she  was  determined  to  return 
home  by  Christmas. 

The  winter  was  a  severe  one,  and  many  an 
afternoon  Lawrence  and  Frank  Newton  carried 
Edith  off  to  skate  on  the  pond  at  the  Home  Farm, 
and  then  when  the  cheery  wood  fire  was  sputtering 
and  blazing,  and  sending  rosy  tongues  of  light 
across  the  wainscoted  walls,  they  would  gather 
round  Ruth's  couch  for  tea,  and  s:ich  talks  as 
Edith  had  not  enjoyed  for  many  a  long  day. 


IO2  To  the  End. 

"Mother,"  said  Frank  one  day  to  Mrs.  Newton, 
"doesn't  it  strike  you  that  Lawrence  and  Edith 
have  a  good  deal  in  common  ?  They  are  too  un- 
selfish to  make  me  feel  de  trap  on  our  walks  to 
the  Home  Farm,  but  I  can't  help  noticing  how 
much  more  confidential  their  tones  become  when 
they  start  off  for  a  skate  together." 

"  Silly  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Newton,  as  she  stroked 
her  son's  face  fondly,  "  sailors  are  proverbially  fond 
of  love-making,  but  I  didn't  know  they  were  also 
match-makers.  Lawrence  and  Edith  are  just  like 
brother  and  sister,  and  they  have  many  tastes  in 
common." 

"  Now,  madre  mia,  isn't  that  just  what  I  said  ? 
— '  they  have  very  much  in  common.'  Yes,  mark 
my  words,  if  all  goes  merrily  as  a  marriage  bell, 
you  will  soon  greet  Edith  as  a  daughter." 

"Well,  Frank,  your  father  and  I  could  never 
receive  any  one  we  should  love  better.  Edith  is 
to  us  already  a  daughter  in  all  but  name  ;  but  in 
such  an  important  a  matter  as  marriage  we  should 
not  like  to  bias  Lawrence  ;  he  can  safely  be  trusted 
to  choose  wisely  for  himself." 

And  Lawrence  did  choose  wisely,  but  Frank 
was  quite  right — Edith  was  the  object  of  his  choice. 
Day  by  day  her  pure  Christianity,  her  loving  un- 
selfishness, her  high  tone  of  character,  had  become 
better  known  to  him,  and  with  the  knowledge  had 


Marriage  Bells.  103 


grown  up  for  her  a  love — a  love  which  was  founded 
on  respect,  and  on  the  thought  that  they  were  one 
in  Christ  Jesus — heirs  together  of  the  grace  of  God 
• — fellow-pilgrims  to  the  Heavenly  city. 

And  what  of  Edith  ?  Well,  Edith  knew  that  her 
visit  to  St.  Magna's  had  been  a  most  enjoyable 
one,  and  that,  strange  to  say  for  such  a  home-bird 
as  herself,  she  was  not  looking  forward  with  the 
same  amount  cf  eagerness  as  usual  to  returning 
to  Adclbert  Terrace ;  but  not  till  one  frosty  night 
when  beneath  the  stars  Lawrence  told  her  the 
story  of  his  love,  did  she  divine  the  reason  why 
— that  her  heart  was  not  in  her  own  keeping. 
Lawrence's  earnest  burning  words,  though,  soon 

o  o      * 

tore  the  film  from  her  eyes.  She  had  no  hesitating 
doubts  now,  no  tormenting  fears  as  she  had  about 
Mr.  Rollo.  The  love  that  had,  almost  imperceptibly 
to  herself,  grown  up  within  her  from  childhood  for 
Lawrence,  burst  the  barriers  that  surrounded  it, 
and  made  itself  felt  at  last ;  and  with  a  heart  of 
happy  thankfulness  and  eyes  of  shy  satisfied  trust, 
Edith  looked  up  into  the  grave  tender  face  that 
was  bending  over  her  and  promised  Lawrence  all 
that  he  asked. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

A    CHANCE    MEETING. 

HE  purple  hills  of  the  Clyde  were  wrap- 
ping themselves  in  shadow,  and  the 
gorgeous  tints  of  sunset  were  giving 
place  to  the  deep  blue  of  twilight, 
when  the  lona  drew  up  one  autumnal  evening 
at  one  of  its  customary  landing-places. 

"  My  dear,  if  you  are  going  to  be  all  night  getting 
on  board,  perhaps  you  will  allow  me  to  get  ahead 
of  you,"  was  the  gruff  remark  which  one  of  the 
new  passengers  was  heard  to  make  to  his  wife 
as  he  angrily  pushed  his  way  up  the  gangway. 
Then  stamping  on  board  in  an  irascible  manner, 
he  began  wrangling  with  the  porters  about  his 
luggage,  finally  subsiding  into  a  corner  with  a 
plaid  round  his  shoulders,  over  a  pipe  and  a 
"  brandy-and-soda,"  muttering  maledictions  at  the 
climate,  and  vowing  he  would  never  come  to 
these  plaguey  northern  latitudes  again. 

Two  quiet  figures  were  standing  in   the  stern 


A   CJiance  Meeting.  105 

of  the  steamer  watching  the  mists  creeping  down 
the  mountains,  when  turning  at  the  gentleman's 
loud  tones  the  lady  exclaimed — 

"  Why,  Lawrence,  surely  I  know  that  voice — yes, 
it  is  Mr.  Richards." 

"  Is  it  ?  Poor  Violet,  then  she  has  tied  herself  to 
a  pepper-box." 

"  Joan  always  told  me  he  was  very  hot-tempered  ; 
but  I  had  no  idea  he  was  so  uncontrolled  as  that. 
But  see,  there  is  Violet ;  Lawrence,  I  must  go  and 
speak  to  her." 

The  closely-veiled  figure,  however,  that  had  been 
standing  motionless  watching  her  husband,  now 
placed  her  hand  within  her  maid's  arm,  and  turning, 
pointed  to  the  cabin  staircase,  and  Edith  with  a 
sigh  rejoined  her  husband. 

"  Oh,  Lawrence,  isn't  it  sad  that  such  a  peaceful 
scene  as  this  should  be  marred  by  such  ill-temper  ? 
Look  at  that  lovely  moon  turning  everything  into 
silver ! — wouldn't  you  think  it  would  calm  any  one 
to  look  at  it  ? " 

Lawrence  and  Edith  had  been  married  four 
years,  and  despite  the  cares  and  the  anxieties 
which  are  incidental  to  the  happiest  married  life, 
the  time  had  passed  to  them  like  one  long  summer's 
day.  Week  by  week  Ed'th  had  learnt  to  know 
and  appreciate  more  the  depth  and  true  nobility  of 
her  husband's  character.  Unmoved  by  opposition 
and  undaunted  by  difficulties,  day  by  day  he  spent 


io6  To  the  End. 

himself  and  was  spent  in  the  service  of  his  Master, 
and  often  and  often  did  Edith's  heart  go  up  with 
happy  thankfulness  for  the  love  and  the  guidance 
of  such  a  husband. 

A  little  girl  of  three  years  old  and  a  baby  boy 
of  sixteen  months  had  been  left  behind  in  the 
nursery  of  the  East  End  vicarage — Mrs.  Wilmot 
being  ostensibly  in  charge — though  with  such  a 
careful,  trustworthy  nurse  as  Patience  Trueman  to 
look  after  her  darlings,  Edith  knew  no  other  care 
was  needed. 

Yes,  Mrs.  Trueman  had  been  persuaded  at  last 
to  give  up  her  "  indispensable  Patience."  But  how 
could  she  refuse  anything  to  "  Miss  Edith,"  the 
daughter  of  kind  Dr.  Wilmot,  who  had  so  tenderly 
and  so  skilfully  ministered  to  her  little  Mary  in  her 
last  illness,  and  who  had  only  left  her  death-bed 
to  lie  down  on  his  own? 

Mrs.  Wilmot's  stay  in  London  was  only  a 
temporary  one,  for  she  was  residing  now  at  St. 
Magna's,  Harry  being  at  last  settled  at  the  Knoll 
with  a  sweet  young  wife,  and  bidding  fair  to 
become  as  great  a  favourite  as  did  his  father. 
Cuthbert  too  had  been  taken  into  partnership, 
and  under  the  steadying  influence  of  his  elder 
brother  was  sobering  wonderfully,  and  Mrs.  Wilmot 
had  taken  a  house  near  the  Rectory  to  make  a 
home  for  him  and  her  younger  children.  Joan 
was  married  to  an  officer,  and  gone  to  India, 


A    Chance  Meeting.  107 

but  Mary  made  a  capital  elder  sister,  and  Bertie 
and  "the  flowerets"  were  never  tired  of  exclama- 
tions of  how  much  nicer  the  country  was  than 
London. 

It  was  not  often  that  Lawrence  and  Edith  took 
a  holiday  so  far  away  from  home ;  but  seeing  her 
husband's  strength  flagging,  Edith  resolved  to 
steel  her  motherly  heart,  and  to  urge  Lawrence  to 
start  for  regions  where,  with  God's  blessing,  he 
might  hope  to  regain  elasticity  and  vigour. 

Darkness  had  set  in  by  the  time  the  lona 
had  reached  its  last  landing-place ;  but  by  the 
flickering  glare  of  the  gas-lamps  the  Newtons  saw 
that  the  Richards  were  making  for  the  same  hotel 
as  themselves. 

"  We  had  better  wait  to  speak  to  them  till  table 
d'hote"  said  Edith,  "  the  luggage  question  is  agi- 
tating Mr.  Richards  now ;  but  perhaps  by  dinner- 
time he  will  have  forgotten  his  grievances." 

Vain  hope  ;  table  d'hote  came,  and  with  it  Mr. 
Richards  (though  without  Violet),  but  the  Newtons 
were  glad  the  length  of  the  table  separated  them, 
for  he  did  nothing  but  storm  at  the  waiters  and 
grumble  at  the  dishes. 

"  Poor  Violet,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that 
she  prefers  dining  up-stairs  !  Lawrence,  I  must 
go  and  see  her." 

"  Do,  dear,  and  I  will  go  to  the  reading-room." 

Finding  out  from  a  waiter  the  number  of  the 


loS  To  the  End. 

Richards'  s'.tting-room,  Edith  was  soon  on  her 
way  thither,  and  in  response  to  her  tap,  a  tired 
voice  bade  her  enter. 

It  was  quite  two  years  since  Violet  and  Edith 
had  met,  for  the  Richards  spent  much  of  their  time 
abroad,  and  though  from  Joan's  description  Edith 
was  prepared  to  find  her  friend  altered,  she  could 
hardly  realize  that  the  worn,  faded  woman  that 
rose  from  the  sofa  to  greet  her  was  the  sparkling, 
brilliant  Violet  of  former  days.  What  Violet  had 
lost  in  appearance,  though,  she  had  gained  in  man- 
ner. There  was  a  depth  and  a  genuineness  about 
her  welcome  now  which  meetings  of  other  days 
had  always  seemed  to  lack ;  and  Violet's  pleasure 
at  this  unexpected  visit  was  so  pure  and  unaffected 
that  Edith  had  not  the  heart  to  tear  herself  away. 

When  the  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  struck  the 
half-hour,  though,  she  started  up. 

"  Half-past  nine  ;  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late ! 
Violet,  I  must  be  running  away ;  Lawrence  will  be 
wondering  what  has  become  of  me." 

"  Late  ! — do  you  call  this  late  ?  I  dare  say  I  shall 
be  waiting  up  for  Lionel  till  half-past  twelve  or 
one." 

"  Oh,  Violet,  such  hours  must  be  very  bad  for 
you ! "  and  Edith  gazed  with  compassion  at  the 
worn,  pale  face  before  her.  "  Go  and  have  a  rest 
now, you  must  be  so  tired  after  your  day's  travelling." 

"  Tired  ! — I  am  always  tired,"  and  Violet  heaved 


A   Chance  Meeting.  109 

a  weary  sigh.  "  But  I  shall  only  rest  here ;  it  is 
better  that  I  should  be  up  when  Lionel  comes  in. 
Do  stay  a  little  longer,"  she  added,  piteously,  "  the 
evenings  seem  so  long ;  they  never  were  when  my 
little  darling  was  with  me,  for  when  I  hadn't  friends 
I  always  sat  in  the  nursery.  I  loved  to  watch  my 
baby  boy — he  never  looked  prettier  than  when  he 
was  asleep ;  and  then  I  used  to  make  his  pretty 
things — his  little  frocks  and  pinafores  ;  but  now  all 
my  interest  in  life  is  gone  ;  I  have  nothing  left  to 
look  forward  to  " — and  burying  her  face  in  her  hands 
Violet  burst  into  a  paroxysm  of  tears. 

Edith  let  Violet  cry  in  silence,  for  she  knew  it 
was  better  the  long  pent-up  emotion  should  find 
an  outlet,  but  when  the  sobs  became  less  convulsive 
she  whispered — 

"  Violet,  dear,  I  am  so  very,  very  sorry  for  you. 
I  know  by  the  love  I  bear  my  own  little  ones 
how  terribly  hard  it  must  have  been  for  you  to 
give  up  your  darling ;  but  he  is  safe  at  home  now 
in  the  arms  of  the  Good  Shepherd." 

"  Don't  talk  religion  to  me,  Edith,  it  gives  me 
no  comfort — how  I  wish  it  did !  How  I  wish  I  had 
strong  faith  like  you,  and  could  picture  my  darling 
happy — happy — and  look  forward  to  meeting  him 
one  day  again  !  Life  would  become  peaceful  then, 
if  not  happy.  But  I  cannot  raise  my  thoughts  to 
things  above  ;  my  heart  is  so  dead — so  cold.  I  am 
a  different  being  from  the  girl  that  knelt  with  you 


no  To  the  End. 

at  St.  Magna's  when  we  were  confirmed  together. 
I  did  then  realize  something  about  heaven  and 
things  unseen,  but  now  I  cannot — I  cannot.  I  care 

O  ' 

only  for  what  I  can  see,  and  handle,  and  touch. 
It  is  my  fault,  I  know — my  fault  entirely.  I 
quenched  the  light  that  was  glimmering  within 
me,  and  chose  earth  and  its  unsatisfying  pleasures 
for  my  portion,  and  now  I  cannot  raise  my  heart 
above  it." 

"  God  can,  though,  dear  Violet,"  said  Edith ; 
"perhaps  with  your  little  Lionel's  hands  He  is 
beckoning  you  once  more  heavenwards." 

"  Oh,  that  I  could  believe  it !  Oh,  that  I  could 
believe  it ! "  said  poor,  weary  Violet,  as  she  bent 
her  head  on  her  clasped  hands.  "  In  my  dreams 
I  see  my  little  Lion  ;  but  there  is  always  a  wide 
gulf  between  us,  and  in  stretching  across  to  grasp 
my  darling  I  wake — wake  with  e-mpty  hands. 
Pray  for  me,  Edith  ;  pray  that  this  may  not  be  a 
foreshadowing  of  the  future.  I  cannot  pray  for 
myself.  I  once  prayed  earnestly  enough,  but  it  was 
for  wealth,  and  position,  and  pleasure.  God  has 
granted  me  my  request,  but  sent  leanness  into  my 
soul." 

Despite  the  early  hour  at  which  Lawrence  and 
Edith  started  the  next  morning,  Violet  was  down 
to  say  good-bye  to  them,  and  her  last-whispered 
words  were,  "  Edith,  pray  for  me— pray  for  me  !  " 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 


A   SAD   RETURN. 

NOTHER  year  had  rolled  away,  and 
autumn  had  touched  the  woods  around 
the  Home  Farm  with  its  red  and  golden 
fingers — the  apples  were  hanging  russet 
on  the  boughs,  and  the  pears  seemed  to  invite  you 
to  pick  them. 

A  happy  party  were  gathered  in  the  orchard, 
where  the  work  of  despoiling  the  heavily-laden 
trees  was  going  busily  on,  Tom  Trueman's  sun- 
burnt hands  gathering  quickly  the  golden  fruit, 
while  Robin  (a  most  picturesque  figure  in  his  sun- 
hat)  stood  with  a  basket  below  ready  to  receive 
them.  Bertie  Wilmot  too  was  perched  on  the 
topmost  branches,  doing  his  best  to  shake  the 
yellow  pippins  into  the  outstretched  aprons  of 
Daisy,  Pansy,  and  another  little  flaxen-haired 
maiden  who  were  capering  wildly  beneath. 

Mrs.  Muir  was  busy  pouring  out  the  tea  which 


ii2  To  the  End. 

old  Elspeth  had  just  brought  out,  and  Ruth  with 
her  sweet  gray  eyes  was  gazing  smilingly  at  the 
children. 

"How  little  Eva  is  enjoying  herself! — this  is  a 
novel  experience  for  her." 

"  Wee  lambie,  her  cheeks  are  getting  quite  sun- 
burnt. I  wish  her  father  could  see  her." 

Eva  Muir  was  Mrs.  Muir's  niece  by  marriage  ; 
her  father,  like  her  uncle,  being  a  medical  mission- 
ary in  Africa  ;  but  since  the  death  of  her  mother, 
Mrs.  Muir  had  taken  charge  of  her. 

Round  the  winsome  loving  litt'e  Eva  the  tendrils 
of  Ruth's  heart  soon  twined  themselves,  and  her 
invalid  life  was  indeed  brightened  by  the  presence 
of  the  little  child.  Her  education,  too,  Ruth  had 
begged  to  take  charge  of;  and  Mrs.  Muir  had 
consented  gladly,  for  she  knew  the  occupation 
would  be  good  alike  for  pupil  and  teacher. 

Just  as  tea  was  over,  a  figure  was  seen  crossing 
the  lawn.  It  was  Mr.  Newton — no  one  could 
mistake  that  rapid,  swinging  gait — and  in  an 
instant  the  children  were  up  and  bounding  off  to 
meet  him. 

With  Eva  on  his  shoulder,  and  Daisy  and  Pansy 
in  each  hand,  he  was  soon  under  the  apple-trees, 
and  old  Robin's  puckered  face  broke  into  a  smile, 
and  Tom  Trueman's  brown  hands  went  the  faster 
for  the  presence  and  encouiagement  of  the  Vicar. 


A  Sad  Return.  1 1 3 


When  the  sun  began  to  sink,  though,  and  the 
children  had  scampered  off  with  Robin  and  Tom 
to  give  the  cows  their  supper,  Mr.  Newton  pro- 
duced a  letter  from  his  pocket,  and  drawing  a 
chair  beside  Mrs.  Muir  and  Ruth,  proceeded  to 
read  it  aloud.  It  was  from  Edith,  unfolding  a 
plan  that  had  long  lain  near  her  heart. 

Would  Ruth  come  up  to  London  to  see  a  far- 
famed  doctor?  A  similar  case  to  hers  (humanly 
speaking)  he  had  been  the  means  of  curing. 
Lawrence  and  she  \vere  most  anxious  the  effort 
should  be  made,  and  wrould  give  Ruth  the  warmest 
welcome ;  and  if  Mrs.  Muir  could  not  remain  the 
whole  time,  they  would  take  every  possible  care  of 
her.  Would  Mr.  Newton  go  to  the  Home  Farm 
and  use  his  best  powers  of  persuasion  ? 

Ruth's  pretty  colour  came  and  went  fitfully 
during  the  reading  of  the  letter.  Like  stars  in  the 
summer's  sky  there  had  sprung  up  within  her  a 
sweet  hope.  Was  it — oh,  was  it  possible  that  she 
was  not  always  to  remain  an  invalid  ?  But  when 
Mr.  Newton  had  finished,  she  lay  quite  peacefully, 
with  hands  crossed,  gazing  up  at  the  white-flecked 
sky.  God  had  taken  care  of  her  in  the  past — He 
would  in  the  future — His  will  would  be  best  for 
her  whether  in  sickness  or  prosperity. 

"  Well,  Ruthie,  dear,  what  is  your  answer  ?  "  and 
Mrs.  Muir  stroked  fondly  her  niece's  nutbrown  hair 

H 


H4  To  the  End. 

"  That  you  shall  decide  for  me,  dear  auntie,"  and 
the  gray  eyes  shone  with  strange  beauty. 

"Then,  dearest,  we  will  go,"  and  Mrs.  Muir  bent 
and  kissed  her  niece  fondly. 

"  And  may  God's  blessing  go  with  you ! "  said 
Mr.  Newton. 

"Amen  !"  whispered  Ruth  and  Mrs.  Muir  softly. 
***** 

Christmas  had  come  and  gone,  and  Ruth's  visit 
to  London  was  nearly  over.  It  had  more  than 
fulfilled  her  friends'  highest  anticipations  ;  through 
God's  mercy  the  treatment  used  had  been  so 
blessed  that  by  the  autumn  she  hoped  to  walk 
again,  and  with  care  the  doctors  averred  she  might 
one  day  lead  as  active  a  life  as  her  neighbours. 

How  Ruth's  heart  bounded  with  joy,  and  how 
fervently  she  clasped  her  hands  in  praise,  when 
she  heard  this  verdict,  who  shall  say  ?  God  was 
holding  out  to  her  the  prospect  of  renewed  health 
and  strength — by  His  grace  the  life  thus  restored 
should  be  dedicated  more  than  ever  to  His  glory. 

Leaning  back  in  the  firelight  now,  with  Edith's 
golden-haired  little  Marjorie  in  her  arms,  Ruth 
made  a  pretty  picture — her  cheeks  rosy  with  re- 
turning health,  and  her  sweet  eyes  sparkling  with 
new  vigour. 

The  nursery  at  this  hour  was  her  favourite 
resort.  Never  was  she  tired  of  telling  Marjorie 


A   Sad  Return.  1 1 5 


and  little  Lawrence  stories,  or  of  watching  Patience 
bathe  the  baby. 

It  was  a  wild  night,  and  every  now  and  then,  as 
the  rain  dashed  against  the  casements  and  the 
wind  howled  in  the  chimney,  Edith  looked  up 
anxiously  from  her  sewing. 

"  What  a  dreadful  night  to  be  out  in  ! — how  I 
wish  Lawrence  would  come  in  ! " 

"  I  did  hear  a  bell,"  said  Ruth. 

"  Oh,  but  master  always  uses  a  latch-key,"  and 
Patience  looked  up  smilingly  as  she  drew  one  of 
baby's  dimpled  arms  through  the  sleeve  of  his 
little  night-dress. 

The  years  that  had  rolled  over  Patience's  head 
had  dealt  kindly  with  her ;  she  was  a  trifle  stouter, 
perhaps,  but  her  face  was  as  round  and  as  ruddy 
as  when  she  had  played  in  the  lanes  at  St.  Magna's. 
To  Edith  she  was  invaluable — always  bright  and 
always  to  be  relied  on  ;  and  busy  as  a  clergyman's 
wife's  life  must  always  be,  Edith  was  thankful 
to  have  such  a  mainstay  to  fall  back  upon.  The 
experience  Patience  had  gained  too  in  the  care 
of  her  little  brothers  and  sisters  was  of  great  ser- 
vice in  the  Vicarage  nursery ;  but  her  reign  there 
did  not  promise  to  be  a  long  one,  for  a  respectable 
young  carpenter  at  St.  Magna's  had  discerned  her 
many  virtues  ;  and  one  day  when  her  mistress 
could  spare  her  she  had  promised  to  marry  him. 

H  2 


1 1 6  To  the  End. 

***** 

The  bell  that  Ruth's  quick  cars  had  heard  was 
such  a  faint  one  that  it  had  to  be  pulled  again  ere 
the  parlour-maid,  who  was  washing  her  crockery, 
took  her  hands  from  the  bowl,  and  proceeded 
up-stairs  to  answer  it. 

"  Is — Mrs. — Lawrence  Newton — at  home  ?  " 

The  question  was  interrupted  by  fits  of  coughing, 
and  when  it  was  done,  the  poor  thing  who  had 
asked  it  leant  against  the  wall  as  though  perfectly 
exhausted. 

"  Yes,  she  is.  I  would  be  sorry  if  she  were  out 
in  such  a  night  as  this  ;  but  come  in,  ma'am,  will 
you  ? — for  the  hats  will  be  blowing  into  the  road, 
and  my  cap  will  be  following  them,  I'm  thinking," 
and  the  parlour-maid  as  she  spoke  held  on  tightly 
to  her  well-starched  head-gear. 

"  It  is  a  dreadful — night,"  came  between  short 
dry  coughs. 

"  Dreadful,  and  one  not  fit  for  the  likes  of  you  to 
be  out  in  ;  but  come  this  way,  and  I'll  tell  the 
mistress  ;  she's  up-stairs — in  the  nursery." 

The  parlour-maid  as  she  spoke  threw  open  the 
study  door,  and  drawing  a  chair  forward  poked  the 
fire  into  a  blaze. 

"  Thank  you,"  was  all  the  poor  woman  could 
ejaculate  as  she  sank  into  the  depths  of  the 
proffered  seat. 


A  Sad  Return.  1 1 7 


"  Shall  I  give  any  name  ? " 

"No — no — Mrs.  Newton — wouldn't  know — it; 
just  say — please — some  one — would  like — to  speak 
to— her." 

When  the  servant  had  gone,  the  stranger  stretched 
out  her  thin  hands  over  the  fire,  as  though  it  were 
an  unwonted  luxury,  and  raising  her  thick  veil 
gazed  wistfully  round  the  apartment.  How  com- 
fortable it  all  looked,  to  be  sure — the  well-filled 
book-shelves,  the  thick  red  curtains,  the  firelight 
flickering  on  the  wall,  and  the  sound  of  the  rain 
pattering  on  the  windows  and  the  wind  howling 
up  the  chimney  only  made  such  a  retreat  seem  the 
cosier. 

Through  the  half-open  door  too  came  the  sound 
of  happy  laughter,  the  snatches  of  the  hymn  that 
Patience  was  singing  her  baby  to  sleep  with,  and 
the  sweet  music  of  childish  prattle. 

The  poor  woman  sighed  heavily,  and  turning 
once  more  to  the  fire,  stretched  her  poor  worn 
fingers  over  it. 

"  Good  evening,"  said  Edith,  as  she  pushed  open 
the  study  door. 

"  Good  evening,  ma'am,"  and  the  stranger  rose 
and  curtseyed  as  she  spoke,  but  she  did  not  seem 
to  find  any  further  words  wherewith  to  explain  her 
visit. 

"  Are  you  one  of  our  parishioners  ?  " 


ii8  To  the  End. 

"No,  ma'am,  no" — then  burying  her  face  in  her 
hands  the  poor  woman  burst  into  tears. 

"  You  are  in  trouble,"  said  Edith,  gently  ;  "  do 
you  mind  telling  me  what  it  is — perhaps  I  can  help 
you?" 

No  answer — only  sharp  catches  of  the  breath,  and 
a  convulsive  fit  of  coughing. 

Edith  stood  by  distressed,  hardly  knowing  what 
to  suggest,  then  hearing  the  rattle  of  cups  in  the 
next  room,  she  said — 

"  Lean  back  in  your  chair ;  I  will  send  you  in  a 
cup  of  tea  ;  you  will  feel  better  after  it,  then 
perhaps  you  will  be  able  to  talk  to  me." 

"  No,  Miss  Edith,  no— please  don't — trouble — " 

The  mention  of  her  maiden  name  and  something 
in  the  tones  of  the  woman's  voice  caused  Edith 
to  approach  a  step  nearer.  Surely  she  knew  those 
brown  eyes,  they  seemed  to  speak  to  her  out  of 
the  past. 

"  You  don't  know  me,  miss  ?  " 

"  No,— and  yet— and  yet — " 

"  Rose — I  was  once  Rose  Wicks." 

"Rose  Wicks!"  Edith  was  too  much  shocked 
to  hide  her  pained  surprise.  Could  it  be  possible  ? 
Was  it  really  true  that  this  worn,  faded  creature, 
this  hollow-cheeked,  emaciated  woman  was  the 
bright,  the  beautiful  Rose  that  she  had  known 
at  St.  Magna's  ?  "  Rose,  I  am  indeed  sorry  to  see 


A  Sad  Return.  119 


you  looking  so  ill,"  and  drawing  a  chair  near  to 
her  visitor,  Edith  took  one  of  the  thin  hands  in 
hers. 

The  gentle  touch  and  the  sympathetic  voice 
completely  broke  down  pocr  Rose,  and  it  was 
some  minutes  before  she  could  recover  herself 
sufficiently  to  tell  her  sad  history. 

When  travelling  as  a  maid  on  the  continent  she 
had  become  engaged  to  a  gentleman's  valet  who 
was  staying  at  the  same  hotel  with  herself.  She 
had  believed  him  to  be  respectable,  and  he  had 
given  her  to  understand  that  he  had  saved  enough 
for  them  to  live  on  in  comfort.  After  their  marriage, 
though,  she  had  found  all  these  representations 
to  be  false ;  and  out  of  his  situation  as  valet  he 
had  been  turned  when  it  was  discovered  he  had 
obtained  it  through  a  false  character.  Lower  and 
lower  they  had  sunk  in  the  social  scale,  and  latterly 
her  husband  had  been  acting  as  billiard-marker 
at  a  small  tavern.  He  had  taken  to  drinking  and 
gambling,  though,  and  but  little  of  his  earnings  did 
Rose  ever  receive.  Her  twin  babies  had  died 
some  months  ago  from  want  of  proper  food  and 
privation,  and  now  her  husband  had  left  her.  She 
could  obtain  no  clue  to  his  whereabouts  ;  food  had 
not  passed  her  lips  for  twenty-four  hours ;  and  she 
was  absolutely  without  a  penny.  Terrible  fits  of 
coughing  interrupted  this  sad  history,  and  when 


I2O  To  the  End. 

it  was  done,  poor  worn  Rose  leant  back  in  her 
chair  with  eyes  closed,  perfectly  exhausted,  and 
Edith  with  a  sorrowful  face  hurried  away  to  fetch 
her  some  supper. 

Lawrence  and  Ruth  were  deeply  distressed  at 
Edith's  sad  account  of  Rose,  and  fearful  of  over- 
excitement  they  resolved  not  to  see  her  until  the 
morning.  Patience,  though,  could  not  be  kept 
back  from  her  old  friend,  and  it  was  Patience's 
eager  hands  that  lit  the  fire  and  made  cosy  the 
little  room  next  the  nursery,  and  it  was  on  Patience's 
strong  arm  that  poor  Rose  clambered  the  staircase 
to  it. 

The  next  morning  she  was  too  ill  to  rise ;  pains 
like  knives  were  darting  through  her  chest,  and 
her  cough  was  almost  incessant.  The  doctor  pro- 
nounced it  to  be  inflammation,  induced  no  doubt 
by  the  previous  night's  exposure.  With  care,  he 
said,  she  might  weather  it.  But  down-stairs  he  told 
Edith  that  even  if  Rose  got  over  this  attack,  her 
days  were  numbered  ;  her  lungs  were  extensively 
diseased ;  consumption  had  already  marked  her 
for  its  victim. 

In  ten  days  Rose  was  able  to  sit  up  again,  and 
her  one  wish  was  to  return  to  St.  Magna's. 

It  was  with  a  sad  heart  Edith  took  up  her  pen 
to  write  to  the  old  parents  in  the  little  cottage 
under  the  tall  elms,  the  cottage  from  which  Rose 


A   Sad  Return.  121 


was  so  eager  to  depart,  and  to  which  now  she  was 
so  anxious  to  return  ;  and  almost  irresistibly  there 
flashed  across  Edith's  mind  the  remembrance  of 
the  conversation  which  she  and  Rose  had  held 
at  the  wicket-gate  that  summer  evening  now  so 
long  ago.  Could  it  be  possible  that  the  bright,  the 
beautiful  girl  who  had  then  spoken  so  wilfully,  was 
the  wan,  faded  invalid  who,  propped  up  with  cushions 
by  the  fire  with  a  bright  hectic  spot  in  each  cheek, 
was  now  gasping  for  breath  ?  Ah,  when  will  we  learn 
that  God's  choice  for  us  is  best — that  the  lives  that 
He  plans  for  us  are  far,  far  better  than  any  that  we 
can  map  out  for  ourselves — that  His  love  is  un- 
fathomable— that  His  wisdom  is  unerring — that  He 
can  safely  be  trusted  to  guide  the  sheep  that  follow 
Him  by  the  safest,  the  surest  way  home  ?  Poor 
self-willed  Rose,  walking  in  the  ways  of  her  heart, 
and  in  the  sight  of  her  eyes ! — of  these  things  she 
was  now  reaping  the  bitter  fruit. 

Edith's  two  visitors  returned  together  in  the  same 
train  to  St.  Magna's — the  patient  invalid,  Ruth, 
who  had  taken  up  her  cross  of  suffering  and  ac- 
cepted God's  will  in  it,  to  a  life  of  new  health  and 
vigour ;  while  the  strong,  ruddy,  self-willed  Rose 
lay  prostrate  on  the  cushions  opposite,  with  a  face 
white  as  the  pillows  against  which  she  rested. 

The  pretty  cottage  beneath  the  elms,  how  peace- 
ful it  looked  in  the  setting  sun  !  But  the  meeting 


122  To  the  End. 

between  Rose  and  her  parents  was  a  very  sad  one. 
Mrs.  Wicks  threw  her  apron  over  her  head  and 
went  into  loud  hysterics,  and  though  Mr.  Wicks 
controlled  himself  sufficiently  to  assist  in  carrying 
his  daughter  to  her  old  little  room  beneath  the 
eaves,  his  lips  twitched  with  pain  and  his  face 
worked  convulsively ;  and  when  once  more  down- 
stairs, he  leant  his  head  upon  his  hands,  and  through 
his  brown,  horny  fingers  there  trickled  such  tears 
as  only  strong  men  weep,  while  with  a  voice  that 
was  broken  with  emotion  he  murmured — 

"  My  pretty  girl — my  pretty  girl — didn't  I  say  as 
Lunnon  would  be  the  ruin  of  ye  ?  Ye're  going  fast, 
like  your  pretty  aunt  Jess  ;  we'll  soon  have  to  lay 
ye  beside  her." 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

CONFIRMATION   BELLS. 

EN  changing  years  have  come  and  gone, 
and  once  more  it  is  confirmation  day 
at  St.  Magna's. 

The  sky  is  just  as  blue  and  the  sun 
is  shining  just  as  brightly  as  it  did  the  day  Edith, 
Ruth,  Violet,  Patience,  and  Rose  were  confirmed 
together  ;  and  Violet,  as  she  steps  into  her  carriage 
at  the  Hall  at  Great  St.  Magna's,  sighs  regretfully 
as  she  thinks  of  that  bright  spring  morning.  What 
record  have  the  twenty  intervening  years  of  her 
life  carried  up  of  themselves  to  God  ?  Ah,  surely, 
surely,  not  as  fair  as  might  have  been  ! 

Violet  is  a  widow  ;  in  solitary  grandeur  she  reigns 
at  the  Hall.  Wealth,  position,  ease,  independence — 
all  the  things  she  trusted  life  might  yield  her — are 
hers  now,  and  yet  she  is  not  satisfied.  Her  poor 
hungry  heart  is  craving — craving ;  the  food  it  re- 
quires is  love — love  to  God  and  love  to  man. 


124  To  the  End. 

Owing  to  illness  Mr.  Newton  has  had  to  give  up  his 
pastoral  duty,  and  Lawrence  is  now  Vicar  of  St. 
Magna's.  Often  and  often  Violet  drives  over  to 
spend  an  afternoon  with  Edith,  though  the  Hall 
seems  stiller  and  emptier  than  ever  after  a  visit  to 
the  full  and  happy  Vicarage. 

Lawrence  and  Edith  always  hope,  though,  that 
Violet's  sorrows  and  loneliness  will  draw  her 
nearer  to  God,  and  that  living  to  Him  and  her 
neighbour,  her  life  will  not  one  day  be  a  dull  or 
a  sad  one. 

Ruth  Hope  is  Ruth  Hope  no  longer.  Little  Eva's 
father  came  back  invalided  to  the  Home  Farm 
some  two  years  after  Ruth's  visit  to  London,  and 
the  quiet  gentle  girl  to  whom  his  child  clung  so 
fondly  soon  made  a  deep  impression  upon  him. 
Mrs.  Muir  refused  to  part  with  her  niece,  though, 
and  Dr.  Muir's  health  forbade  him  thinking  of 
returning  to  Africa  again,  so  Ruth  has  not  been 
called  upon  to  leave  the  home  of  her  girlhood,  nor 
the  aunt  she  loves  so  well.  Dr.  Muir  still  devotes 
all  the  time  and  the  energy  (that  his  health  will 
permit)  to  the  furtherance  at  home  of  the  mission- 
ary work  which  lies  so  near  his  heart,  and  Ruth 
in  this  as  in  every  other  good  work  is  a  true 
helpmeet  to  him. 

Patience  Trueman  some  five  years  past  made 
happy  the  honest  carpenter  who  had  waited  for 


Confirmation  Bells.  125 

her  so  long,  and  her  cottage  is  the  neatest  and 
prettiest  in  St.  Magna's  ;  in  fact  her  husband  thinks 
that  no  man  in  England  has  a  better  wife,  finer 
children,  and  a  happier  home  than  he  has. 

And  what  of  Rose  Wicks  ?  Ah  !  Rose — pretty 
Rose — is  sleeping  beside  her  aunt  in  the  cemetery 
on  the  hill-side.  What  passed  between  her  soul  and 
God  during  her  last  illness  who  can  say  ?  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Newton,  Mrs.  Muir  and  Ruth,  and  the  Miss 
Scotts  were  her  constant  visitors,  and  she  would 
lie  very  still,  with  hands  clasped,  and  a  thoughtful 
look  in  her  beautiful  bright  eyes,  while  they  read 
and  prayed  with  her ;  but  she  never  said  much, 
though  they  always  hoped  that  in  her  weakness 
and  suffering  she  crept  to  the  feet  of  her  Saviour, 
and  that  those  outstretched  arms  of  love,  which 
she  had  so  long  turned  her  back  upon,  were  her 
support  in  the  shaded  valley. 

But  oh !  it  is  a  terrible  risk  to  run,  to  leave  the 
all-important  matter  of  making  our  peace  with 
God  to  the  last  hour  of  mortal  weakness,  when  flesh 
and  heart  are  failing  ;  and  it  seems  almost  an  insult 
to  offer  to  the  Saviour,  who  has  died  for  us,  the 
few  remaining  sands  of  a  fast-ebbing  life. 

Edith  was  thinking  of  all  these  things — of  her 
own  past  life — of  the  lives  of  four  girls  who  had  been 
confirmed  with  her,  as,  the  bells  pealing  sweet  and 
clear,  she  crossed  the  Vicarage  lawn.  How  vividly 


126  To  the  End. 

her  own  confirmation  rose  up  before  her ! — how 
timidly  she  remembered  she  had  sung  the  words — 

"  O  Jesus,  I  have  promised 

To  serve  Thee  to  the  end  !  " 

And  yet  how  graciously  God's  Hand  had  been 
over  her ;  how  tenderly  God  the  Holy  Spirit  had 
guided  her  in  the  days  that  were  past !  Through  all 
the  trials  and  temptations  of  the  way  He  had  pre- 
served her  to  this  hour,  and  with  what  earthly 
blessings  had  He  not  crowned  her  ?  And  Edith's 
eyes,  as  she  walked  up  the  aisle,  wandered  gratefully 
to  her  husband's  white-robed  figure  in  the  chancel, 
to  her  little  Marjorie  in  her  confirmation  dress, 
kneeling,  with  hands  clasped  and  a  face  of  rapt 
devotion,  in  the  same  pew  where  she  herself  had 
knelt  just  twenty  years  before — to  the  bevy  of 
bright  boys  and  girls  around  her. 

Truly  her  "  barrel  of  meal  had  not  wasted,  her 
cruse  of  oil  had  not  failed."  "  Goodness  and  mercy 
had  followed  her  all  the  days  of  her  life  ;  she  would 
dwell  in  the  House  of  the  Lord  for  ever." 

"  He  that  endureth  to  the  end,  the  same  shall  be 
saved,"  was  the  theme  of  the  address.  "  But  how  are 
you  to  endure  to  the  end  ?  "  asked  the  Bishop  ; "  your 
hearts  are  so  treacherous — your  passions  are  so 
blinding — your  temptations  are  so  strong.  Well,  you 
must  ask  your  Heavenly  Father,  Who  has  called 


Confirmation  Bells.  127 

you,  to  give  you  strength  to  overcome  ;  you  must 
seek  from  the  Lord  Jesus,  Who  has  redeemed  you, 
for  patience  to  persevere  ;  you  must  watch  ;  you 
must  pray ;  you  must  fix  your  eyes,  not  on  the 
things  which  are  seen  and  temporal,  but  on  the 
things  which  are  unseen  and  eternal.  Like  Moses, 
you  must  have  respect  unto  the  recompense  of 
the  reward,  esteeming  the  reproach  of  Christ  greater 
riches  than  the  treasures  of  Egypt.  You  must 
endure  as  seeing  Him  Who  is  invisible.  Like 
Timothy,  you  must  endure  hardness  as  good 
soldiers  of  Jesus  Christ's  ;  like  the  Blessed  Master, 
you  must  endure  the  Cross  for  the  joy  that  is  set 
before  you  ;  and  thus  pardoned,  guided,  sanctified, 
kept  faithful  to  the  end,  He  will  present  you 
faultless  before  the  presence  of  His  glory  with 
exceeding  joy.  You  shall  see  His  face ;  you  will 
walk  with  Him  in  white  ;  for  for  His  dear  sake  God 
will  account  you  worthy ;  you  shall  eat  of  the  tree 
of  life  that  is  in  the  midst  of  the  Paradise  of  God." 

"  He  that  shall  endure  unto  the  end,  the  same 
shall  be  saved."  "  Be  thou  faithful  unto  death,  and 
I  will  give  thee  a  crown  of  life." 

The  sun  that  shone  so  brightly  through  the 
church  windows  of  St.  Magna's  rested  for  a  minute 
on  Violet's  bowed  head,  gleamed  among  Ruth's 
auburn  hair,  lit  up  Patience's  honest  face,  and 
tinted  Edith's  sweet  eyes  as  once  more  she  sang— 


128  To  the  End. 


"  O  Jesus,  Thou  hast  promised 

To  all  who  follow  Thee, 
That  where  Thou  art  in  glory, 

There  shalt  thy  servant  be  ; 
And,  Jesus,  I  have  promised 

To  serve  Thee  to  the  end  ; 
O  give  me  grace  to  follow 

My  Master  and  my  Friend. 

O  let  me  see  Thy  footmarks, 

And  in  them  plant  mine  own  : 
My  hope  to  follow  duly 

Is  in  Thy  strength  alone. 
O  guide  me,  call  me,  draw  me, 

Uphold  me  to  the  end  ; 
And  then  in  Heaven  receive  me, 

My  Saviour  and  my  Friend." 


THE   END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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